1ARLES  KEELER 


GIFT   OF 


THE  VICTORY 

POEMS  OF  TRIUMPH 


THE 

VICTORY 

POEMS  OF  TRIUMPH 

BY 
CHARLES  KEELER 


i 


NEW  YORK 

LAURENCE  J.  GOMME 

1916 


Copyright,  1916,  by 
LAURENCE  J.  GOMME 


Published,  May,  1916 
Second  Edition,  November,  19/6 


VAIL-BALLOU     COMPANY 
BINBHAMTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


To 
JOHN  BURROUGHS 

We  have  climbed  together  the  granite  peaks  tossed  up  in  the 

West, 
We  have  talked  together  of   life  and  death   and  the  spirit 

quest. 
Friend   of  the   hills   and   the   birds   and   flowers   with   heart 

undefiled, 
Your  beard  is  frosted  by  time,  but  you  look  with  the  eyes 

of    a    child ; 
Your   own   has  come  to  you   as  you   stand   on   the  peak  of 

age, 
And   I   call   up   from  the  valley   and   ask  for  thy  blessing, 

O  Sage! 


341)275 


NOTE 

INCLUDED  in  this  collection  are  two  poems  which 
were  published  in  earlier  volumes,  burned  with  all  my 
other  published  books  in  the  San  Francisco  earthquake 
and  fire.  The  lines  here  entitled  " Growth"  were  first 
printed  under  another  caption  in  "A  Light  Through 
the  Storm,"  and  "The  Dreamer  and  the  Doer"  is  from 
"Idyls  of  El  Dorado." 

The  lines  "To  My  Boy"  were  published  in  The 
University  of  California  Magazine;  "Faith  and 
Works"  appeared  in  The  Cosmopolitan  Magazine;  "A 
Masque  of  the  City"  was  first  printed  in  Success  Maga 
zine;  "Playing  the  Part"  in  The  Pacific  Monthly. 
"Compensation"  was  included  in  a  volume  of  verse 
published  by  The  California  Writers  Club.  "On 
the  Dedication  of  a  Drinking  Fountain"  was  read 
in  Alameda,  California,  before  the  fountain  and 
printed  in  the  local  papers.  "A  New  Year  Ode"  was 
read  at  a  public  gathering  and  printed  in  the  Berkeley 
Reporter.  "Love  is  All'"  appeared  in  Bruno's  Weekly 
under  the  title  "A  Song  of  Life."  Most  of  the  above 
have  been  many  times  reprinted  in  various  papers,  but 
are  now  for  the  first  time  gathered  in  a  volume. 

Of  the  remaining  poems,  a  large  number  have  been 
recited  on  my  programs  in  California,  Honolulu,  Japan, 
China,  the  Philippines,  India,  Florence,  London  and 
New  York,  but  have  not  hitherto  been  published. 

C.  K. 


LIST  OF  TITLES 

PAGE 

THE  VICTORY .1 

O  WHENCE,  O  WHITHER,  SOUL?    ....  2 

THE  REAL 4, 

THE  CRY  OF  LIFE .      .  6 

MAN  THE  CONQUEROR 8 

THE  DREAMER  AND  THE  DOER 10 

FAITH  AND  WORKS    .      .      .     .  •' \    '.     .     .  12 

To  MY  BOY    .     .     .     .     .     .     i     .     .     .  13 

A  TURBULENT  SPIRIT  ....      .     ...    .  15 

COMPENSATION -  .      .      .      .  18 

OUR  HERITAGE  OF  JOY      .      .      ....      .  19 

GROWTH .20 

THE  CHANT  OF  LIFE  TO-DAY     .      ...     .  21 

TRIUMPHANT  BEAUTY      .      .      .      ....  26 

WOMAN .     .27 

A  MASQUE  OF  THE  CITY  .......  29 

NOT  IN  VAIN . '    .     .      .  31 

FORBIDDEN  FRUIT 32 

THE  CHANT  OF  THE  SOUL  TRIUMPHANT    .      .  33 

THE  TRUTH 35 

THE  SHRINE  OF  GOD 38 

O  ELUSIVE  ONE 39 

CONVENTIONS 40 


List  of  Titles 


PAGE 

PLAYING  THE  PART 42 

LONGING 43 

THE  TIME  SPIRIT 44 

QUOTH  SOCRATES 46 

A  PICTURE  OF  MAMMON 47 

THE  TOIL  OF  WIZARD  WHEELS 49 

AFTER  Loss 52 

MEMORIES 53 

THE  SOUL  OF  THINGS 54 

To  THE  BUILDERS  OF  THE  NEW  CITY    ...  56 

'Tis  WELL 58 

OUR  BROTHERS  OF  THE  FIELDS  AND  TREES  .      .  59 

THE  MASTER 62 

ON  HEARING  Music 65 

THE  PAINTER 67 

TO  IN  A  COOLBRITH 7O 

FATE 73 

THE  JOY  BRINGER 74 

LOVE'S  DOWER 77 

AT  THE  FERRY 78 

THE  PEOPLE  OF  THE  GRAVES 80 

YEARNING  AFTER  THE  INFINITE 84 

WAITING 85 

ON  THE  DEDICATION  OF  A  DRINKING  FOUNTAIN  87 

THE  SECRET  OF  LIFE 91 

WITH  THE  DEAD 92 

THE  AWAKENING 94 

THE  VENUS  OF  MELOS 96 

THE  QUEST  OF  HAPPINESS 100 


List  of  Titles 


PAGE 

tf  LOVE  is  ALL 104 

THROUGH  SORROW'S  MIST 106 

THE  CHILD  HEART 108 

DREAMING  IN  THE  CROWD 109 

PRAYER  .     ...     . 113 

FRIENDS 116 

Now       .      . 117 

REMEMBERED  LOVE .119 

A  NEW  YEAR  ODE 120 

THE  REINCARNATION  OF  THE  GIANTS  .     .      .122 

THE  VOYAGE    . .123 

A  CHANT  OF  LOVE "...   125 

NEW  WORLD  MAGIC  ,   128 


THE  VICTORY 


THE  VICTORY 

TN  the  night  of  defeat  I  await  the  dawn  of  victory, 
•••   From  the  clash  of  discord  I  flee  to  harmonious  song, 
From  the  anguish  of  evil  I  yearn  to  the  triumph  of 
good: 

The  conquest  of  age  by  the  dauntless  heart  of  youth, 
The  conquest  of  death  by  the  power  creative  of  soul, 
The  conquest  of  hate  by  the  limitless  might  of  love. 


O  WHENCE,  O  WHITHER,  SOUL? 

O  WHENCE, 
O  whither, 
Soul? 

What  genesis, 
What  destiny 
Is  thine? 

Back  of  thy  birth, 
Beyond  thy  death, 
What  fate? 
Ephemeron 

With  tremulous  flight 
From  chrysalis 
One  fluttering  hour 
Unto  oblivion ! 

Millenniums  of  life 
Through  thee  reverberate; 
Uncounted  cycles  swing 
Through  thy  pre-natal  pulse; 
Unreckoned  aeons  cast 
Thy  seed  from  life  to  life. 
Fate  plays  at  cards  with  thee, 
Shuffles  and  cuts  the  pack 
Through  ages  ere  thy  birth, 
2 


O   Whence,  O  Whither,  Soul? 


And  throws  thee  on  the  board 
The  last  hand  of  the  game. 

Thy  garments  wrought 
Of  dust  of  stars, 
Primordial  nebulae 
On  time's  loom  spun 
To  plasmic  form, 
Become  thee  well! 
O  lovely  bride, 
Thy  mighty  spouse, 
The  world-czar  Death 
Awaiteth  thee. 
Hail  to  thy  nuptials! 
But  whither  the  journey 
Out  unto  the  heavens, 
Star-wandering  pilgrim  ? 

The  footfalls  of  angels 

Up  cloudy  steeps  guide  thee; 

The  path  of  the  comet, 

Celestial  highway 

To  ultimate  star-worlds, 

Thy  bright  feet  shall  traverse. 

No  bonds  shall  enthrall  thee, 

No  limits  shall  bind  thee, 

For  lo  'tis  ordained 

Thou  shalt  journey  to  God! 


THE  REAL 

\T7E  vex  our  lives  with  aimless  strife, 

*  *      We  clutter  up  our  days  with  things ; 
We  strain  for  goods,  we  grasp  for  gain, 
And  lo  we  find  'tis  all  but  dust, 
'Tis  but  illusion  mocking  us. 
What  are  these  phantasms  of  today 
For  which  we  toil  and  moil  in  pain, 
These  prized  belongings  of  an  hour 
Wherefore  we  fritter  life  away? 
Ashes  and  rust,  the  winds  of  care 
Whirl  dancing  down  the  void  of  time, 
Or  smoke  to  just  obscure  the  blue, 
Or  sick  miasmas  of  the  morn. 

Give  me  the  real,  give  me  the  true; 
'Tis  not  compounded  out  of  clay, 
The  spirit  essence,  love  distilled, 
God's  presence  growing  into  light 
Through  soul  of  flower  up  to  man, 
Friendship  and  love,  benignant  peace, 
And  beauty  hallowing  all  our  hours. 
Yea  that  alone  we  bring  to  life 
When  from  the  mother's  womb  we  spring, 
And  that  which  in  our  hearts  we  hold 


The  Real 


As  silently  we  drift  away 
From  this  great  pageant  of  the  world, 
And  lift  our  gaze  to  wider  spheres  — 
That  only  can  beguile  our  tears. 


THE  CRY  OF  LIFE 

T   AM  no  flagellant 

•*•     With  whip  and  scourge, 

I  am  no  penitent 

In  hairy  coat; 

No  faster,  no  ascetic  I, 

No  mortifier  of  the  flesh, 

No  monk  in  lonely  cell 

Emmewed  aloof  from  life. 

Thank  God,  who  did  endow 

Me,  soul,  with  flesh  and  frame 

To  glorify,  to  use 

In  joy  and  thankfulness! 

'Tis  good  to  live,  to  breathe 
Deep  draughts  of  fragrant  morn, 
Deep  dewy  draughts  of  night; 
To  eat  sweet  simples  of  the  earth, 
To  drink  of  springs,  cool,  crystal-clear; 
To  feel  the  warm  benignant  sun 
Tingling  the  skin,  the  zest  of  winds, 
The  nip  of  frost  upon  the  cheek; 
To  feel  the  tender  touch  of  hands  — 
Communicable  thrills  awaked 
By  their  caress,  the  throb  of  life 
6 


The  Cry  of  Life 


That  leaps  with  meeting  lips, 
The  ecstasy  of  love  — 
O  life,  O  bliss! 

So  is  my  cry  not  death 

But  life!  more  life,  replete 

With  all  that  sense  can  wring 

Of  beauty  out  of  clay; 

Full  of  the  joy  of  light, 

Of  color  and  of  sound, 

Of  redolence  of  flowers, 

Full  of  sweet  words  and  laughter, 

Until  intoxicate 

With  beauty  we  may  see 

The  hem  of  the  onspeeding  Deity 

And  cry  out,  God,  praise  be  to  Thee! 


MAN  THE  CONQUEROR 

ONE   by  one  hast   thou   conquered   the   elements, 
masterful  man, 

Taming  the  steam  and  electrical  spark  to  thy  will, 
To  speed  thee  o'er  land  and  o'er  sea  at  thy  beck  and 

thy  nod ; 
Boring  like  mole  through  the  mountains   and  under 

the  rivers, 

Diving  like  penguin  beneath  the  wild  waters  and  rising 
To  ride  on  the  waves  unconcerned  by  thy  triumphs 

surpassing. 
Now  thou  hast  mastered  the  air,   and   thy  ships  go 

careering 
Skyward  to  vie  with  the  eagle,  by  danger  undaunted. 

What  is  there  left  for  thy  conquest,  unsatisfied  mon 
arch? 

What  but  thyself,  Cosmic  Caesar,  who  owns  none  for 
master ! 

Of  old  it  was  said,  "  Know  thyself,"  but  I  say  to  thee 
further, 

"  Go,   conquer  thyself  " —  that  will  make  thee  com- 
mander-in-chief, 

With  armies  of  passions  rebellious  subdued  and  sub 
missive, 

8 


Man  the  Conqueror 


A  monarch  'twill  make  thee,  with  hopes  and  with  fears 

for  thy  subjects; 
Nay,  'twill  make  thee  a  god,  and  the  world  will  be 

thine  where  thou  walkest. 


THE  DREAMER  AND  THE  DOER 

"  In  the  beginning  was  the  Word,  and  the  Word  was  with 
God,  and  the  Word  was  God." —  ST.  JOHN. 

ACK  of  every  mighty  action  stands  the  planner 

with  his  plan; 
First  the  dreamer,  then  the  doer;  first  the  Maker,  then 

the  man. 
Shall  we  lower  rate  achievements  of  the  brain  than  of 

the  hand? 
1    All  we  do  is  of  the  spirit  if  we  rightly  understand. 


When  the  voice  of  Science  tells  us  how  through  ages 

man  has  grown, 
How  the  world  is  still  in  making,  how  the  past  is  all 

our  own, 
Shall  we  therefore  count  it  lightly  that  the  world  was 

first  a  word 
Spoken   in   a  void   of  silence,   by  the  startled   atoms 

heard  ? 

For  the  world  is  still  unfolding  what  the  primal  Mas 
ter  planned, 

Through  eternity  completing  one  sublimely  thought 
command ; 

10 


The  Dreamer  and  the  Doer 


And  the  dreamer  is  the  doer  if  he  dreameth  aught 

aright, 
For  his  thought  shall  grow  to  action,  and  his  word 

shall  be  the  light. 


II 


FAITH  AND  WORKS 

XTT'E  prate  of  love  and  deal  in  hate; 

*  ™     We  talk  of  faith  and  trust  to  fate. 
O  might  we  do  the  things  we  preach, 
Could  we  but  live  the  life  we  teach! 

When  Christ  was  born,  did  men  rejoice? 
Adown  the  ages  swells  his  voice, 
But  sounds  in  vain  for  him  who  reads 
If  faith  leads  not  to  loving  deeds. 

When  Plato  lit  the  torch  of  yore 
The  beacon  blazed  from  shore  to  shore, 
And  we  upon  time's  farthest  height 
Still  see  it  flash  across  the  night. 

Uplift  the  brand,  nor  fear  the  burn  ; 
Dare,  in  a  world  of  doubt,  to  learn 
That  God   attains   Himself  through  you 
Christ  lives  today  in  them  that  do. 


12 


TO  MY  BOY 

ON  His  FIRST  BIRTHDAY 

T    ITTLE  stranger  from  a  world  unknown, 
•*— '  Little  pilgrim  starting  on  your  quest, 
Little  spirit  with  your  flight  unflown, 
Nestling  sheltered  at  the  mother's  breast, 

By  what  mystic  alchemy  divine 

Do  I  live,  transfigured  in  your  form, 

Thus  commingled  with  a  spirit  fine, 
Thus  repatterned  to  a  fairer  norm? 

But  your  eyes  repeat  your  mother's  fair, 
As  the  pool  that  mirrors  heaven's  blue, 

And  the  halo  of  your  golden  hair 

Hints  the  glory  she  bequeathes  to  you. 

By  such  tokens  do  we  claim  you  ours, 

Yet  no  mortal  genesis  alone 
Bound  you  to  the  tyranny  of  hours, 

Cast  your  spirit  in  the  flesh  and  bone. 

Faring  hither  from  the  past  obscure 
With  the  taper  life  to  light  you  far, 

Tho'  it  flicker  out,  shall  love  endure, 

Guide  to   lead  you  toward  your  goal  —  a  star ! 
13 


To  My  Boy 


You  are  ours  in  trust  a  little  time, 

Ours  to  start  upon  the  upward  trail. 
May  the  little  feet  grow  strong  to  climb, 

May  the  heart  expand,  the  will  avail. 

Tiny  hands  shall  strengthen  to  their  need, 
Tiny  lips  shall  learn  to  speak  in  praise; 

Child,  I  charge  you,  one  monition  heed, 

One  commandment  keep  through  all  your  days: 

Learn   to  serve,  with  hand   and   heart  and   brain, 
God  within  you  find,  not  far  above; 

Toil  for  beauty,  give,  and  thereby  gain, 
Thus  transmute  your  labor  into  love. 


A  TURBULENT  SPIRIT 

A     TURBULENT  spirit  mine, 
•**•     Untamed  like  frightened  bird 
Fluttering  against  the  wires, 
Beating  upon  its  cage; 
Spirit  of  wild  unrest, 
Of  the  lion  gnashing  the  bars, 
Snarling  in  futile  rage, 
Roaring  his  vain  desire 
To  roam  unfettered  far 
O'er  dun  dim  Nubian  plains; 
Spirit  of  brawny  blacksmith 
With  fist  of  iron  beating 
The  keys  of  ebon  and  ivory 
And  howling  in  impotent  wrath 
At  the  jangle  and  crash  of  sound 
When  he  would  that  music  respond ; 
Spirit  of  writhing  madness, 
Of  the  maniac  beating  his  head 
On  the  walls  of  his  padded  cell 
And  crying  unto  death 
To  free  his  imprisoned  soul. 

Ah  yes,  these  spirits  all  my  spirit  seemed 
Until  one  day  a  little  wild  bird  sang, 
15 


A   Turbulent  Spirit 


Or  was  it  an  opening  flower  that  smiled  to  me, 

Or  was  it  beam  of  sun  that  sought  me  out? 

For  something  whispered  timidly  and  low: 

"  Peace,  peace,"  and  only  "  peace."     But  I  replied 

"  Nay,  nay,  I  am  a  fighter,  let  me  fight, 

Whack  with  my  blade  at  phantoms  mocking  me, 

Thrust  at  the  effigies  of  mortal  men, 

Smite  the  tormentor  Life  who  prisons  me 

In  walls  of  flesh  and  wrest  from  him  the  prize, 

The  blessed  boon  of  Death  he  holds  from  me." 

But  still  the  voice  reiterated,  "  Peace." 

Perchance  it  was  a  child's  voice  mocking  me, 

Or  wafted  whisper  from  another  world; 

So  very  close  to  me  the  murmur  sounds 

It  almost  seems  my  own  soul  crying  "  Peace." 

Perchance  'tis  God  or  one  of  his  dear  angels 

Singing  beatitudes  from  spheres  afar. 

At  last  my  spirit  answers:     "  I  am  free! 
Yes,  yes,  a  wild  cloud-winging  bird  am  I 
Singing  my  arias  in  life's  radiant  morn; 
A  lion-spirit,  bold,  untamed  and  strong, 
Bounding  o'er  native  wildernesses  wild; 
A  master  craftsman  of  the  spell-bound  keys 
Whose  every  touch  evokes  divine  response, 
A  philosophic  sage  with  cosmic  mind 
Compounding  out  of  chaos,  order,  law. 


16 


A   Turbulent  Spirit 


"  Now  verily  I  find  my  strife  in  vain, 
Since  Life,  transfigured  to  a  gladsome  child 
Has  beckoned  me,  and,  pointing  to  his  feet, 
Shown  me  his  shadow  Death  across  his  path." 
So  may  I  grow  in  peace  and  grace  of  love, 
Knowing  that  shadows  must  betoken  light. 
Calmly  I  wander  on  th'  eternal  way  — 
Dear  God,  I  take  Thy  hand  and  walk  in  peace. 


COMPENSATION 

Tj^OR  every  pang  a  thrill  of  joy, 
•**     For  every  sin  a  deed  of  grace, 
For  every  curse  a  benison  — 
Somewhere,  somehow,  sometime! 

This  is  my  faith,  that  God  is  just, 
That  wrong  shall  be  resolved  in  right, 
That  out  of  darkness  breaks  the  light. 

We  would  not  have  eternal  day, 
We  would  not  have  all  happiness; 
The  shadows  make  the  glow  more  bright, 
The  night-gloom  glorifies  the  day 
And  sorrow  sanctifies  our  bliss. 

So  if  this  life  seem  mostly  lost 
In  one  dull  reach  of  dreary  gloom, 
And  if  the  good  be  bowed  in  dust, 
What  matters  it,  if  God  be  just? 

The  great  world  plan  cannot  be  wrong, 
In  other  lives,  on  other  spheres 
The  good  God  justifies  earth- tears, 
And  souls  that  suffer  shall  be  blessed. 
18 


OUR  HERITAGE  OF  JOY 

SUNSHINE  and  laughter  and  song, 
These  are  ours  by  inalienable  right; 
So  come,  wise  owl,  stop  hooting  at  night, 
The  world  is  not  all  wrong. 

Cheer  up,  old  comrade,  be  friends  with  the  weather! 

The  donkey  brays 

For  tempting  sprays 
Just  beyond  his  tether, 
Knowing  not  that  the  grass  at  his  feet 
Is  full  as  sweet 
And  far  more  tender  than  the  thistles  out  of  reach. 

Ah,  could  we  but  learn  what  we  so  glibly  teach, 
That  a  bird  in  the  hand  is  worth  two  in  the  bush, 
We  would  not  forever  scramble  and  push 
With  our  pinch  of  salt  after  birds  awing; 
Why  not  let  them  sing,  man,  let  them  sing, 
And  you  sing  too,  and  perchance  you  may  find 

That,  just  as  they  did  to  Orpheus,  the  birds  will 
come  to  you  — 

The  little  birds  of  hope  from  heaven  blue  — 
If  you  are  only  kind  — 
Remember  that,  now  —  mind ! 

19 


GROWTH 

is  meaningless,  nothing  is  vain 
In  this  big  world  of  promise,  this  cycle  of  pain; 
Every  pang  that  we  suffer,  as  daily  we  plod, 
Is  lifting  our  spirits  through  anguish  to  God. 

We  climb  on  adversity  ceaselessly  higher, 
We  mount  on  each  lowly  unworthy  desire; 
The  beast  that  possessed  us  thro'  ages  of  night 
We  master  and  rule  as  we  grow  toward  the  light. 

Thro'  our  lowly  upyearnings  we  grasp  the  full  plan 
As  the  ape  chatters  idly,  yet  teaches  the  man, 
And  the  man  gravely  ponders  that  angels  may  learn; 
For  we  climb  on  the  states  that  we  conquer  and  spurn. 


20 


THE  CHANT  OF  LIFE  TODAY 

A   RE  we  all  Circe-mad  with  life's  new  wine? 
•*•*•  Crazed  with  the  thirst  of  power  until  we  seek 
Some  opiate  to  dispel  the  brute  obsession? 
Is  life  a  phrenzy  of  illusionment, 
A  nightmare  harrying  our  souls  away 
From  ivy-crowned  Joy's  impassioned  court? 

The  royal  guest  frequents  our  banquet  board  — 
A  grinning  skeleton  in  sheeted  shroud 
Who  shrives  us  gaily  ere  he  tolls  the  bell. 

So  let  us  snatch  from  Death  these  frantic  hours 

Of  revelry,  our  senses  to  beguile 

With  viands  sauced  to  tempt  our  glutton  greed, 

The  while  an  outburst  of  erotic  song 

In  syncopated  rhythm  rends  the  air. 

And  should  some  skinny-fingered  palsied  hag 
Come  skulking  in  to  whine  her  loathsome  plea: 
"Good  sirs,  I'm  starving,  give  me -but  a  crust," 
Why,  let  the  waiter  hustle  her  away. 
Why  should  we  tip  the  fellow  unless  he  ban 
Such  spectres  from  these  sacred  halls  of  mirth? 
21 


The  Chant  of  Life  Today 


And  so  if  I  must  cater  to  an  age 

Jaded  with  rag-time  and  mad  cacophony, 

Must  it  be  vaudeville  you  wring  from  me? 

Ha,  would  you  have  me  blare  on  the  trombone, 

Smash  down  the  cymbals  and  lambaste  the  drum 

To  punctuate  some  brash  coon-yeller's  bawl? 

Should  I  ride  Pegasus  across  your  stage 

Transmogrified  into  a  hobby-horse 

With  antic  monkey  tugging  at  the  strings? 

No,  look,  the  hand  is  writing  on  the  wall, 
Awake  ye  soused  and  listless  banqueters, 
Ye  dare  not  glance  with  mocking  eyes  askance, 
For  now,  behold  the  hour  of  reckoning! 

And  so  I  sing  in  your  unwilling  ears 

A  raucous  chant  of  life  and  death  and  truth, 

A  hymn  of  beggars  and  bedlam  hags  and  thieves, 

A  song  of  felons  in  and  out  of  cells, 

A  plea  of  paupers  and  little  soul-starved  children. 

I  sing  of  life,  not  glozed  with  silk  and  gems, 

But  grimed  in  sweat-shop,  groggery  and  dive, 

Mocked  in  palatial  halls  of  empty  pomp, 

Flung  from  divorce  courts  and  from  bated  breath 

Of  scandal-mongers  eager  with  their  tale 

To  damn  the  good  name  of  their  nearest  friend. 


22 


The  Chant  of  Life  Today 


Think  you  to  find  some  balm  in  Gilead, 

Some  ready-made  placebo  for  the  soul, 

Some  life-elixir  or  magician's  spell 

To  rob  the  hive  of  life  without  a  sting? 

Go,  ask  Canute  how  long  he  stayed  the  tide, 

Stick  on  the  severed  head  and  galvanize 

The  stiff  cold  corpse  and  bid  it  preach  your  creed ! 

Ah,  dreamers,  lulled  with  opiate  sophistries, 
Knowest  not  the  taint  of  earth's  mortality 
Is  in  our  flesh  despite  our  yea  and  nay? 
The  overlord  sits  grinning  at  the  feast 
And  late  or  soon  cries  "  Come!  "  and  we  obey. 

So  let  us  dare  to  face  the  sober  truth, 
Look  straight  into  its  eye,  nor  flinch  nor  wince. 
How  many  hungry  mouths  in  the  proud  city 
Would  thank  God  for  the  scrapings  from  your  plate? 

What  of  the  desolating  holocaust 
That  sweeps  the  world  in  war's  proud  panoply? 
That  immolates  upon  the  altar  Hate 
Unnumbered  millions  tossed  in  Moloch's  maw? 

Your  platitudes  are  staggered  by  the  sight 
Of  starving  nations  and  dismembered  hordes, 
A  million  mothers  crying  in  the  rain, 
A  fleet  of  full-crewed  ships  of  war  that  lie 
Amid  the  sea  things  in  the  ghastly  deeps. 
23 


The  Chant  of  Life  Today 


Ah,  dilettanti  and  blaze  esthetes, 

I  hear  you  sniff  "  iconoclast  "  at  me, 

You  yawn  and  edge  away,  your  jaded  nerves 

To  rouse  with  new  sensations,  nothing  loath. 

But  wait,  for  like  the  Ancient  Mariner 

I  hold  you,  wedding  guest,  to  hear  my  plea. 

Do  we  not  tear  ramshackle  rookeries  down 

Ere  we  erect  great  steel-wrought  skeletons 

And  pile  our  walls  above  the  Pyramids? 

So  would  I  tear  down  cant  and  sham  today, 

Materialism's  sneer  at  holy  things  — 

Burn  every  filthy  stick  of  rotten  wood 

And  ram  down  piles  to  base  our  structure  well. 

Come,  comrades,  reverently  I  question  you: 
Think  you  God  saw  that  tiny  starveling  child 
Look  up  with  piteous  appeal  to  mother  eyes 
That  rained  tears  on  its  little  shrunken  form 
And  let  it  die  with  anguish  unallayed? 

Think  you  God  saw  the  wanton  murderer 
Blot  out  the  life  of  yon  frail  hapless  maid, 
Nor  stayed  the  hand  uplifted  for  the  blow? 
Think  you  God  countenances  sin  and  shame 
For  no  intent  in  His  great  cosmic  plan? 
What  monster  of  a  God  would  we  adore! 
Nay,  we  but  fashion  karmas  for  our  souls 
To  expiate  in  progress  through  the  stars. 
24 


The  Chant  of  Life  Today 


Schooled  in  adversity  and  wrong  and  woe 
We  learn,  upclambering  on  the  stony  way, 
Bearing  our  crosses  unto  Calvary. 

And  these  our  transient  bodies,  weak  and  frail, 
Are  fiddles  whereupon  we  play  life's  tune, 
And  who  the  fiddler?     Soul,  now  have  your  say, 
Rag  or  sonata  do  you  mean  to  play  ?  — 
For,  as  you  play  in  th'  flesh,  so  shall  it  be 
When  you  sing  in  th'  glorious  choir  of  heavenly 
spheres. 

Ah,  let  it  be  a  joyous  part  you  play, 
Of  loving  kindness  ringing  round  the  sphere! 
Tune  up  your  strings  (you're  in  the  symphony 
Of  brotherhood)  and  play  with  all  your  will. 
God  is  conductor,  and  the  clash  and  strife 
But  sanctifies  the  heart  for  holy  strains; 
Play  the  allegro  now  —  good  will  to  men. 
Mindless  of  self,  with  world-wide  sympathy, 
A  great  andante  chorale  swells  to  heaven. 
Ah,  players,  keep  in  tune  and  do  not  lag, 
Watch  the  Conductor's  baton  beat  the  time  — 
God !  this  is  heaven  on  earth,  life's  symphony ! 


TRIUMPHANT  BEAUTY 

'  I  s  OWARD  beauty  yearns  my  heart  unceasingly ; 

-••      Its  ghost  I  clasp,  and  in  my  eager  hand 
I  find  but  emptiness  tormenting  me; 
The  hour-glass  am  I  that  sifts  the  sand. 

O  rainbow  wraith,  could  I  but  hold  your  ray! 

0  butterfly  that  flutters  o'er  the  rose, 
Why  must  you  wing  so  joyously  away, 

The  sport  of  every  vagrant  breeze  that  blows? 

O  love  that  seemed  to  cling  in  constancy, 
Along  came  Death  to  woo  thee,  and  behold, 

Thee  even  did  he  take  away  from  me! 
Amid  the  damp  of  night  I  wander  cold. 

But  in  the  darkness  and  the  chilling  gloom 

1  caught  the  glimmer  of  a  quivering  star, 
And  from  the  dreary  silence  of  the  tomb 

Awoke  a  voice  across  the  void  afar: 

"  Not  in  the  frozen  witchery  of  death 
Is  beauty  prisoned,  but  in  life  it  wings 

Triumphant  toward  the  blue  with  panting  breath 
And  in  immortal  freedom  joyous  sings." 
26 


WOMAN 

THE  hairy  cave-man  clutched  his  mate 
And  snarled  out:     "Woman,  slave, 
On  thee  I  slake  my  thirst. 
Beget  me  children, 
Do  my  work, 
Beware  my  wrath !  " 
And  she,  the  weak  one,  silently  obeyed. 

The  knight  unto  the  tourney  rode 

And  proudly  cried: 

"  For  thee,  O  fair  one,  would  I  break  my  lance, 

Or  take  the  cold  steel  of  my  haughty  rival. 

Thou  plaything  of  my  idle  hours, 

Safe  mewed  within  the  castle  moat, 

Be  thou  but  as  thy  scarf 

That  flutters  from  my  helmet  in  the  field, 

A  whimsey  bright  and  fair, 

Or  jewel  on  my  shield ;  " 

And  she,  the  sleeping  princess,  dreamed 

And  said:     "  'Tis  well,  my  lord,  'tis  well." 

For  many  a  year  the  princess  drowsed  in  peace 
Until  the  Knight  of  Freedom  rode  anigh 
And  at  the  castle  postern  knocked 
27 


Woman 


And  cried :     "  Awake !     Awake !  " 

The  cock  crowed  for  the  dawning, 

The  dogs  barked  lustily, 

The  old  clock  in  the  hall 

Resumed  its  ticking  after  silent  centuries. 

The  dreaming  princess,  from  her  trance  aroused, 

Beheld  herself  unconquered,  unafraid, 

And  spake  out:     "  He  who  taketh  me 

Must  win  me  every  day  and  every  hour, 

Win  me  with  love  and  hold  me  with  its  power. 

No  more  a  noble's  thrall  am  I, 

No  more  a  master's  underling. 

Henceforth,  by  God's  decree 

I  stand  his  equal,  free, 

A  living  dauntless  soul 

Daring  to  face  the  whole 

Of  destiny's  great  plan, 

Friend  and  helpmate  of  man." 

And  so  she  grew  in  womanhood  and  grace, 

More  worthy  mother  of  a  lordlier  race. 


28 


A  MASQUE  OF  THE  CITY 

A     WHIRLWIND  of  faces  adown  the  dark  street, 
•*•*•     A  clatter  of  hoof-beats,  a  scuffle  of  feet, 
A  clanging  of  bells  and  a  rumble  of  wheels 
As  round  me  the  tempest  Humanity  reels, 
As  past  me  the  Juggernaut  Destiny  reels. 

What  on  the  faces  that  pass  do  I  read? 
Blood  is  the  script  and  the  motto  is  Greed! 
Pale  are  the  spectres  that  sweep  down  the  pave, 
Pale  as  the  foam  on  the  crest  of  the  wave, 
Pallid  as  foam  when  the  angry  seas  rave. 

Women  and  children  and  men  in  the  throng, 
Troubled  with  life  in  a  tumult  of  wrong, 
Weary  of  earning  the  boon  of  a  grave, 
Paying   for  power  the  price  of   a  slave, 
Selling  their  souls  for  the  gold  they  may  save! 

Civilization  and  progress  I  hear 

Dinned  by  a  discord  of  pain  on  my  ear; 

A  scramble  for  gold  and  a  scuffle  for  gain 

And  who  shall  not  say  at  the  last,  "  It  is  vain?" 

And  who  shall  not  cry  at  the  close,  "  All  in  vain !  " 


29 


A  Masque  of  the  City 


Lift  up  the  masks  from  the  throng  in  the  street; 
Fling  off  the  weeds  of  despair  and  deceit, 
Under  the  turmoil  of  passionate  strife 
Pushes  the  spirit  of  beauteous  life  — 
God  is  beneath  all  the  pain  that  is  rife. 


NOT  IN  VAIN 

T    BLEW  a  bubble  of  radiant  hue 

•*•     That  imaged  the  earth  and  the  tremulous  blue, 

But  the  frail  bubble  burst  as  its  wonderment  grew. 

I  builded  a  hope  like  a  cloud  of  gold 

That  arched  o'er  the  land  in  its  radiant  fold, 

But  the  dream  broke  in  tears  on  the  earth's  drear  mold. 

I  folded  a  love  to  my  aching  heart, 

But  it  pierced  and  it  pained  like  the  sting  of  a  dart, 

For  the  love  was  a  thorn  and  I  shrank  from  its  smart. 

But  the  thorn  bore  a  blossom  that  bloomed  at  my  breast, 
And  the  hope  was  upbuilded  of  brooding  unrest, 
And  the  thing  I  had  fancied  most  cruel,  was  best. 


FORBIDDEN  FRUIT 

T^\EEP  have  I  bitten  the  bitter-sweet  fruit  of  the 

-"-^        Garden  of  Life  and  of  longing, 

Plucked  from  its  bower  of  brambles,  and  pricked  by 

its  thorns  till  I  cried  out  with  pain, 
And  its  juice,  red  as  heart-blood,  has  stained  me,  but  O 

like  the  fruit  serpent-guarded  in  Eden, 
Or  the  gold  apples  watched  by  the  daughters  of  Hes- 

per,  the  prize  beyond  price  must  be  bought 
By  sorrow  and  danger,  for  lo  I  have  learned  of  the 

meaning  of  good  and  of  evil, 
Have  eaten  the  fruit  at  my  peril  and  now  as  the  gods 

must  be  strong  to  endure. 


THE  CHANT  OF  THE  SOUL 
TRIUMPHANT 

COME  hither,  all  ye  sad  and  sorrowing  ones, 
Come,  heavy-hearted,  lonely  spirits,  come, 
For  I,  too,  through  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow 
Have  walked  with  bowed  head  thoughtfully  and  slow. 

And  I  would  sing  to  thee,  O  weary  heart, 

No  solemn-chanted  Miserere, 

No  dirge  of  doom  or  march  funerbe, 

But  words  of  gladness  in  triumphant  strains. 

When   friends  have   deserted  thee  as  haggard  Want 

stalked  to  thy  door, 
When   hydra-headed  Trouble  hissed   in   thy  pathway 

with  threatening  fangs, 
Thou  hast  cried :     Woe  is  me,  ah  misery ! 

When  thou  hast  seemed  like  Job  accursed  of  Heaven, 
Or  like  Prometheus  felt  the  bird  of  Zeus  rending  thy 

flesh, 
Thou  hast  cried  unto  God :     O  let  me  die ! 

And  in  His  wisdom  he  hath  called  instead 
The  dear  beloved  one  who  was  thy  staff  of  life, 
And  left  thee  weltering  in  the  deeps  alone. 

33 


The  Chant  of  the  Soul  Triumphant 

Ye  cannot  comprehend  the  cosmic  plan, 

Yet  know  that  somehow  shall  the  wrong  be  right, 

And  dare  to  walk  erect  and  face  the  world. 

Sing  like  the  meadow-lark  in  rain  as  well  as  in  the  sun, 
Like  the  snake  in  the  spring-time  slough  off  the  scales 

of  care, 
Cast  the  devils  of  fear  out  of  thee  and  be  a  conqueror ! 

O  could  I  chant  to  thee  as  David  unto  Saul, 

I'd  sing  thee  of  all  the  gladness  of  the  year  — 

Of  the  joy  of  the  winds,  of  the  sweep  and  the  freedom 
of  tempests, 

Of  the  laughter  of  waters,  the  shout  of  the  masterful 
ocean, 

Of  the  fire  ecstatic  that  warms  thee,  the  radiant  sun 
beams, 

Yea,  and  the  love  elemental  that  surges  in  time  to  thy 
heart-beats, 

That  thrills  thee  with  beauty  and  sets  thy  soul  free 
in  the  heavens. 

O  I  rejoice  that  God  is  throned  amid  the  high  places, 

And  as  I  climb  the  mountains  toward  His  seat, 

Upward,  forever  upward,  let  me  sing 

The  song  of  Life  the  Conqueror, 

And  his  victory  over  pain  and  death; 

Sing  the  chant  of  the  soul  triumphant 

And  the  glory  and  joy  of  the  conquest. 

34 


THE  TRUTH 

T    CRAVE  the  truth,  stark  naked,  unashamed  ; 
•*•     And  should  it  smite  me,  let  me  face  the  pang, 
Aye,  turn  the  other  cheek,  and  cry,  again ! 
If  I  have  coddled  error  to  my  breast, 
Let  me  cast  forth  the  viper  ere  it  sting. 
God,  grant  to  me  the  hospitable  mind 
Ready  to  welcome  from  the  vast  unknown 
The  little  children  of  the  Master  Truth. 

And  so  when  Science  in  his  crucible 
Melts  down  the  images  of  saints  and  gods, 
Shall  we  not  save  the  residue  of  gold 
And  toss  aside  the  worthless  lump  of  slag? 
Why  should  we  stumble  on  our  march  to  death 
With  clumsy  fardels  of  antique  device, 
Like  Sinbad  packing  round  an  incubus? 

Do  I  disturb  you,  comfortable  friend? 
Who'd  have  the  surgeon  diagnose  a  cancer? 
No,  let  us  live  in  fatuous  content! 
The  old-wives'  tales  we  learned  on  nurse's  knee 
Will  serve  for  passport  through  Saint  Peter's  gate, 
And  so  we  preen  ourselves  before  the  world. 

35 


The  Truth 


But  Galileo,  the  iconoclast, 

Not  thus  obeisance  made  to  prejudice 

When  he  spied  out  God's  order  in  the  skies, 

And  how  the  riven  sun  in  pangs  of  birth 

Cast  from  its  side  the  world, 

Not  e'en  the  Inquisition's  grim  intent 

Could  shake  his  proclamation  of  the  truth. 

Bible  and  Pope  might  thunder  out  the  law, 

But  his  calm  voice  above  the  turmoil  rose. 

So  Darwin  to  the  scoffers  made  reply 
With  piled  facts  no  sophistry  could  shake. 
His  the  new  Genesis  from  nature's  bible, 
Of  creatures  struggling  through  millenniums, 
Through  patient  cycles  of  ascending  forms; 
He  told  of  primal  protoplasmic  cells 
Controlled  by  laws  immutable,  that  grew 
Even  as  the  flower  unfurling  from  the  seed 
And  culminating  in  the  master  man. 

It  hurts  your  pride  perchance,  to  trace  your  line 

Back  to  some  prehistoric  chattering  ape. 

Of  what  avail,  if  so  it  runs? 

You  would  not,  like  the  ostrich,  hide  your  head 

In  desert  sand  to  'scape  the  huntsman  Truth. 

Beware  black  magic  curse  of  bigotry! 

But  Science  is  not  God's  elect  disciple, 
And  many  an  error  has  she  treasured  fast 

36 


The  Truth 


Beneath  her  academic  cloak  of  smug  conceit. 
Ah  savants,  be  not  overproud,  I  pray, 
You  too  must  bow  before  the  Mighty  One. 
There  may  be  finer  laws  than  you  dissolve 
With  microscope  and  telescope  and  spectrum, 
More  subtle  forces  than  your  prying  eyes 
Can  penetrate  amid  the  unknown  dark. 

What  are  your  laws  but  visions  of  the  unseen  Will? 
What  are  your  forces  but  the  thinking  of  the  perfect 

Mind? 

So  open  wide  your  hearts  to  His  great  light, 
O  seekers  after  truth,  and  as  the  child 
Who  strays  afield  and  finds  a  paradise  of  flowers, 
Walk  into  God's  great  garden  sown  with  stars 
And  lift  your  eyes  aloft  and  cry  — "  'Tis  good !  " 


37 


THE  SHRINE  OF  GOD 

T3REAK  with  old  saws,  old  rituals,  creeds  and  cant; 
*~*  Why  must  we  worship  Mumbo- Jumbo  still? 
Why  practice  voodoistic  gibberish 
With  all  the  sanctimonious  airs  of  piety? 
The  shaman  shouts,  and  at  his  nod  we  turn; 
Through  all  the  mummery  of  haranguing  priest 
The  medicine-man  with  drum  and  shaking  rattle 
Still  capers,  decked  in  feathers  and  wild  paint 
To  scare  the  devils  that  harass  our  dreams. 

O  once  for  all  have  done  with  him,  be  free ; 
No  intermediary  stands  'twixt  thee  and  God 
Whose  robes  are  wind-swept  trees  and  drifting  clouds, 
Whose  voice  is  in  the  bird-song  and  the  sea, 
Whose  temple  is  the  heart  of  yearning  man 
Where  He  sits  throned  in  grace  and  majesty. 
O  laboring  soul,  in  reverence  seek  His  shrine, 
The  open  sesame  whereto  is  love. 


O  ELUSIVE  ONE 

T  LOOK  in  your  eyes, 
•••     I  take  your  hand, 

Words  come  and  go, 

Betwixt  us  twin, 

But  you,  O  soul, 

I  do  not  know, — 

Only  the  symbol, 

Only  the  sign. 

I  hear  your  laughter, 

I  see  you  weeping, 

I  feel  the  warmth 

Of  your  breath  on  my  cheek; 

Only  the  spirit 

I  may  not  fathom, 

I  look  and  follow 

But  never  find. 

Ever  I  seek 
The  wraith  elusive; 
I  kiss  you  and  press  you 
Close  to  my  heart; 
Dearer  than  life, 
O  lovely  sphinx, 
Will-o'-the-wisp, 
My  wander  child! 
39 


CONVENTIONS 

STAY,  little  slant-eyed  mother  in  Cathay, 
Cut  off  the  swathes  and  free  your  baby's  feet  ,* 
You  Flat-head  squaw,  take  off  the  bandages 
From  your  papoose  and  press  the  skull  in  shape; 
And  O  proud  heir  of  all  the  ages  wrong, 
Dare  you  distort  the  plastic  lovely  form 
God  trusts  to  you  to  rear  to  woman's  grace? 

Ah  'tis  the  mindless  master  of  the  masque, 

Stale  custom,  lording  over  us  its  law, 

Who  pours  our  souls  like  molten  brass  in  moulds 

And  turns  us  out  distorted  images; 

It  is  the  Gorgon's  head  that  petrifies; 

Like  Lot's  forsaken  wife  we  turn  to  salt. 

Must  we  take  consul  of  the  low-browed  ape 
And  heedless  mimic  what  the  courts  of  style 
Decree,  contemptuous  of  beauty's  right? 
Dame  Fashion  folds  her  paper,  takes  her  shears 
And  cuts  out  strings  of  dolls  in  mocking  scorn. 
We  are  the  dolls  she  gives  her  laughing  child, 
The  World,  to  play  with  while  it  pleases  her, 
Then  crumples  us  and  throws  us  in  the  fire. 
40 


Conventions 


Come,  let  us  flout  the  autocrat  inane, 
Parley  no  more  with  freakish  vanities, 
No  longer  wear  the  badge  of  servitude 
But  find  our  sanction  in  the  inner  light; 
For  beauty  out  of  nature's  heart  is  born 
And  grows  in  freedom  unto  fruitfulness. 


PLAYING  THE  PART 

COME,  make  a  bluff  of  courage,  timid  one! 
Assume  the  port  of  valor,  play  the  part, 
Till  acting  it  with  usage  oft  renewed 
So  breeds  it  in  thy  being  and  thy  brain 
Thou  growest  to  the  stature  of  a  man. 
Not  the  swashbuckler  or  Quixotic  knight 
Swaggering  before  stuffed  effigies  of  straw, 
Tilting  with  windmills  — fake  knight  errantry ! 
But  real  deep-hearted  acting  till  in  sooth 
The  marionettes  with  life  are  animate, 
The  actors  attitudinize  no  more 
But,  willy-nilly,  now  assume  the  role, 
Live  the  heroic  part  and  laugh  at  fear, 
Throw  dice  with  fate,  and,  be  it  gain  or  loss 
Cry,  such  is  life,  come,  try  another  toss! 


42 


LONGING 

TTVDR  the  unutterable, 
•*•     For  the  ineffable 
Am  I  longing 
In  dead  of  night: 
For  the  rose  unfading, 
The  song  unending, 
The  heart  unchanging, 
For  love,  for  light ! 

I  would  gather  the  stars, 
The  flowers  of  heaven; 
For  my  garden  bright 
Is  the  beautiful  whole  ; 
I  would  stray  with  thee 
O'er  night's  wide  meadow, 
O  spirit  maiden, 
O  radiant  soul! 


43 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 

of  impenetrable  Chaos,  black  and  wild, 
Behold,  beloved,  upward-surging  Mind, 
The  Master  Spirit  mated  unto  Love  — 
These  twain  creators  of  the  firmament, 
Of  earth  and  heaven  and  all  the  host  of  stars, 
Of  life  and  death  and  all  strange  pageantries 
Of  shades  and  shadows  in  the  wilderness, 
Forever  sweeping  in  my  tireless  keep; 
For  lo,  the  progeny  of  Mind  and  Love 
Am  I,  familiar  spirit  of  my  heavenly  sire. 

The  weaver  I  of  world-dreams  and  of  weird 
Phantasmagorial  shades  that  rise  and  ride 
From  star-dust  to  the  hymning  host  of  heaven. 
I  rove  like  honey-bee  'mid  blossoming  bells 
From  zoned  Saturn  unto  channelled  Mars, 
And  up  the  void  to  worlds  unvisited, 
Where  bright  Arcturus  flames  remote  and  vast. 

My  hands  unite  the  future  with  the  past, 
The  unformed  figments  of  tomorrow's  pomp 
With  legions  of  inchoate  wraiths  of  thought, 
Unissued  from  the  womb  of  mystery. 
44 


The  Time  Spirit 


I  am  the  hoar  ghost  at  the  van  of  time, 
Leading  the  ages  onward  into  light. 
The  swing  of  planets  round  the  mother  sun 
Mark  golden  scrolls  upon  the  boundless  blue 
For  signs  and  symbols  of  my  tireless  flight. 

I  am  the  world-pulse  and  my  laboring  heart 
Throbs  with  the  myriad  heart-beats  of  the  spheres. 
My  way  is  semperternal  and  I  lead 
My  votaries  unto  darkling  glades  of  death. 
I  sift  the  sands  of  mortal  thought  and  deed 
And  in  my  palm  preserve  the  grains  of  gold ; 
My  flail  forever  winnows  out  the  chaff 
And  sets  it  whirling  down  the  gusty  years, 
While  in  my  granary  the  grain  is  housed. 

Lo,  I  am  Fate,  beloved,  and  I  brood 
O'er  worlds  and  men  and  cosmic  cavalcades, 
Filing  down  the  ages  to  their  doom, 
Wending  amid  the  stars  to  victory. 


45 


QUOTH  SOCRATES 

OUOTH  Socrates,  the  seer, 
To  idlers  in  the  agora : 
"  I  am  a  pestilent  gad-fly 
To  sting  you  until  you  think." 

So  in  our  streets  of  trade 
Would  I  go  buzzing  round 
'Mongst  men  whose  god  is  gold 
And  make  them  cry  in  pain. 


A  PICTURE  OF  MAMMON 

OFOR  Angelo  the  mighty, 
Sculptor  of  grim  allegories, 
Painter  of  heroic  prophets, 
Limner  of  colossal  sibyls! 

I  would  have  him  paint  a  picture, 
Make  a  mural  decoration 
For  the  temple  men  are  building, 
Tier  on  tier,  amidst  the  city. 

In  the  center  of  the  pageant 
Mammon  sits  enthroned,  triumphant  • 
Him  to  whom  men  own  allegiance, 
Master  of  the  marts  of  progress, 
Blindly  worshipped  god  or  devil, 
Gilded  monster  of  the  revel. 

At  his  feet  a  squid  is  sprawling, 
Giant  cuttlefish  uncanny, 
With  its  tentacles  wide  reaching  — 
Flabby  arms  with  suckers  studded  — 
Stretching  far  and  near  about  it, 
Twined  around  the  fleeing  people 
47 


A  Picture  of  Mammon 


Who  in  vain,  with  hands  uplifted, 
Wildly  clutch  the  great  octopus 
Like  Laocoon  and  his  children 
In  the  python's  folds  encircled. 

Round  the  dais  of  King  Mammon 
Stand  the  few  elect,  elated, 
Rapt  in  gaze  upon  their  master, 
Paying  orisons  unnumbered 
To  the  demon  high  exalted. 

Far  below,  a  host  of  toilers 

Armed  with  sledge  and  pick  and  mallet 

Seek  to  storm  the  shrine  of  Mammon, 

By  the  devil-fish  protected. 

They  would  worship  with  the  mighty, 

They  would  trample  on  their  brothers, 

Crowd  them  down  and  climb  upon  them 

Upward  toward  the  throne  of  Mammon, 

But  the  great  octopus  stays  them 

Where  they  crowd  in  ranks  defiant. 

Then,  above  this  sombre  pageant 
See!  the  clouds  that  lower,  breaking, 
And  a  child  against  the  azure 
Standing  with  his  gaze  appealing! 
Lo,  a  little  child  shall  lead  them, 
Lo,  the  child  heart,  loving,  tender, 
Shall  redeem  this  world  of  sorrow! 

48 


THE  TOIL  OF  WIZARD  WHEELS 

T?  LVES  all  invisible  serve  us  with  tireless  toil, 
-•— '  Thralls  elemental  subdued  by  o'er-mastering  man, 
Genii  that  come  at  our  call  on  their  weird  wings  of  fire. 

Hist!   like  a  lightning-bolt  flashes  our  warning  afar, 
Borne  by  the  goblins  erratic  on  mystical  waves, 
Startling  the  nations  that  list  to  the  missive  in  awe. 

Weariless  gnomes  roll  the  myriad  wheels  of  the  world, 
Roaring  with  might  irresistible  onward  they  rush, 
Bearing  the  restless  insatiable  multitude  on. 

Spirits  titanic  are  turning  the  wild  wheels  of  toil, 
Grinding  and  crushing  and  pressing  crude  matter  to 

form, 
Tossing  the  shuttles  in  looms  and  transmuting  the  ore. 

Ah,  this  tempestuous  spirit  of  steel  and  of  steam, 
Wires  electrified,  dynamos,  motors  enthralled, 
Madly  onrushing  for  man  with  ironical  roar! 

Whom  do  they  serve  with  their  magic  of  wizard-work 
mighty  ? 

49 


The  Toil  of  Wizard  Wheels 


Mastered  by  potentates  merciless  claiming  the  toll  of 

their  toil, 
Clutching  the  fruits  of  their  labor  that  falls  at  their 

feet. 

List!  'tis  the  laughter  of  devils  that  mock  as  they  turn 
Wheels  of  the  mills  of  the  fiends  that  are  roaring  anear, 
Wheels  purgatorial  grinding  our  souls  as  they  turn. 

Listen!  the  clattering  kobolds  that  beat  at  our  hearts! 
Hearken !  the  din  of  the  demons  usurping  the  work 
Freemen  had  erstwhile  accomplished  with  song  on  their 
lips! 

Witches'  wheels,  purring  like  cats  by  the  fire  of  doom 
Charm  us  with  whirling  hypnotic,  till  lo,  on  our  knees, 
Worshipful  bow  we  entranced  by  the  eidolon  Power, 

Forgetting  our  mission  on  earth  to  create  and  to  serve, 
God-will  in  man  to  emancipate  matter  with  soul, 
Glorify  passionless  clay  with  our  hands  and  our  hearts. 

Let  us,  O  brothers,  establish  our  right  to  create ! 

Let  us  again  do  the  world's  work  and  reap  our  reward, 

Let  us  dispel  the  enchantments  that  dazzle  our  sight. 

Then  may  we  use  eerie  kobolds  and  gins  for  our  needs, 
Not  as  their  parasites,  corpulent  grown  by  their  toil, 

50 


The  Toil  of  Wizard  Wheels 


But  masters  by  right  of  the  glory  of  work  we  have 
wrought. 

Then,  like  the  seraphim  chanting  God's  praise  in  the 

light, 

Man  shall  mould  earth  into  heaven  by  joy-giving  toil, 
Swelling  the  choir  of  the  spheres  with  terrestrial  praise. 


AFTER  LOSS 

THE  living  presence  of  the  flesh  we  crave 
Until  death  summons  us  beyond  the  grave 
To  dwell  in  spiritual  realms  that  rise 
Beyond  the  confines  of  our  earthly  eyes. 

Through  sorrow's  ministering  touch  we  grow; 
What  erst  we  groped  for,  now  in  faith  we  know; 
That  God  shall  not  grind  spirit  into  dust, 
Souls  come  and  go  —  we  wait  in  boundless  trust. 

We  know  the  Cosmos  makes  no  mock  of  man, 
To  leave  unfinished  what  the  Lord  began; 
That  no  eternal  irony  of  Fate 
Shall  show  the  vista  and  then  bar  the  gate. 

All  we  have  cherished  shall  we  treasure  still; 
Above  the  atoms  doth  the  spirit  thrill. 
Today  we  serve;  tomorrow —  O  my  soul 
Fear  not  the  way  that  leads  to  freedom's  goal ! 


MEMORIES 

MEMORIES,  ah  memories, 
Sweet  haunting  dreams  of  dead  yet  fadeless 

faces, 

Dear  hallowed  presences  that  cling  so  fast, 
Fond  scenes  that  float  forever  through  the  past, 
Insouciant  songs  and  laughter  sounding  still 
In  hollow  echoes  from  entombed  years, 
How  dear,  how  deathless  all  those  idle  tones! 

Loves  lost,  lives  sundered,  only  memories 
Of  tender  words  amid  the  woodland  flowers, 
Once  charged  with  passion,  now  but  poignant  pain, 
Faces  that  from  the  shadowy  boscage  peer, 
So  fleeting,  evanescent,  yet  so  fair! 
All  memories,  sweet  memories! 

Ah  joys,  now  buried  in  the  brain's  deep  crypt, 
Your  ghosts  still  haunt  the  night  in  pallid  shrouds, 
Bitter  with  mocking  laughter  and  dead  songs, 
And  yet  I  welcome  your  cinereous  throng; 
My  friends,  my  kinsmen,  my  departed  love, 
Come,  be  at  peace  with  me,  dear  memories ! 


53 


THE  SOUL  OF  THINGS 

'  I  ^HROUGH  all  this  palpitating  phantasmagoria, 
•*•      Through  all  this  vibrating,   pulsing,  throbbing 

scene 

I  would  reach  down  to  the  soul  of  things  — 
Peer  behind  the  jaunty  plumes  of  the  jay, 
Listen  beyond  his  mocking  laughter  loud, 
See  into  his  bright  impudent  bead  eyes 
And  say:     O  brother  spirit,  what  art  thou? 

Gaze    through    the    tremulous    whispering    redwood 

branches, 

Penetrate  the  ruddy  bark  and  the  fragrant  wood, 
Not  as  the  ax  seeks  the  core,  but  with  the  eye  of  love, 
And  ask  of  this  venerable  sage  of  the  mountain  slope, 
Who  art  thou,  kinsman,  that  thou  dost  comfort  me? 

Scan  the  golden  trumpet  of  the  mimulus 

That  blows  upon  the  marshy  mountain  meadows, 

And  back  of  the  golden  flare  of  the  blithe  calyx 

Behold  the  dear  life  of  the  unfolding  flower; 

See  the  real,  the  divine  spirit,  and  say  unto  it, 

Sister,  I  love  you  —  you  and  I  of  the  same  Father. 

54 


The  Soul  of  Things 


Look  into  the  soil  and  the  stalwart  rock 
Deeper  than  ever  well  or  mine  has  bored, 
Deeper  than  the  enchanted  crystal  locked 
And  sealed  in  granite  tombs,  aye  deeper 
Than  glist'ning  nuggets  in  the  veined  quartz, 
Look  into  the  soul  of  the  mountains  vast  and  cry, 
"  O  brother  mine,  I  greet  you,  I  salute  you ! 
Let  me  rest  upon  your  mighty  shoulders  grim." 

Cast  mine  eyes  aloft  into  the  illimitable  blue 
Where  dapplings  of  white  cloud  drift  silent  past, 
And  search  through  the  whiteness  of  congealed  mist, 
Aye,  fathom  the  azure  of  the  vault  of  heaven 
And  cry  out  unto  the  spirit  of  the  air, 
"  ^Etherial  one,  O  let  me  look  on  thee!  " 

Then,  ah,  then,  I  gaze  into  the  eyes  of  love 

That  image  the  mountains  and  the  trees  and  the  sky, 

Deep,  deep  within  enraptured  eyes  I  peer, 

Longingly  and  tenderly  I  look  where  the  uplifted  lid 

With  fringed  curtain  hath  unveiled  the  tinted  iris, 

Into  the  dark  mysterious  well  of  the  pupil, 

Into  the  fathomless  fount  of  life  where  a  kindred  soul 

awaits  me, 
And  I  whisper:     "  My  treasured  one,  the  secret  here 

is  guarded, 
Thine  eyes  are  the  doorway  to  the  throne  of  the  Most 

High!" 

55 


TO  THE  BUILDERS  OF  THE  NEW  CITY 

OWORKINGMEN  with  cranes,  steam  drills  and 
engines  panting  loud, 
Bolting  and  riveting  great  frames  of  steel  and  burying 

all 
In  concrete  casings,  building  mighty  piles  of  stone  and 

tile, 
Why  all  this  stir  and  noise,  this  hauling  and  hoisting 

near  and  far? 

And   the  jovial   workmen   cried :     "  Our  city,   earth 
quake  gripped  and  swayed, 
By  fire  ravaged   and   devoured,  was  well-nigh  swept 

away, 
And    now   we   are   uprearing   it    anew,    more   stately 

planned, 
More  strong,  more  fair  than  ever  it  had  been  if  left 

unscathed." 


'  'Tis  well,"  I  answered,  "  but  O  workmen  knowest 
not  that  some 

Who  saw  your  city  burn  gave  up  their  lives  in  serving 
you, 

Feeding  and  clothing  and  sheltering  you  in  dire  ad 
versity  ? 

56 


To  the  Builders  of  the  New  City 


They  too   are   building  cities,    fairer   than  you  have 

planned  or  dreamed, — 

Cities  of  golden  deeds  of  sacrifice  and  loving  thought, 
And  some  day  you  will  learn  from  them  to  rear  more 

strong  and  true 

A  spirit  city  that  no  shock  of  fate  can  move  or  mar, 
A  city  of  unworldliness,  of  truth  and  brotherhood." 


57 


'TIS  WELL 

"TpIS  well,  'tis  well!  — 

A      What? 
Why,  all's  well! 
The  felon  in  his  cell? 
Aye,  somehow  'tis  well. 
The  marriage  bell, 
The  death  knell, 
Surely  all  is  well. 
We  but  seem  to  rush  pell  mell 
To  the  very  brink  of  Hell. 
Why,  I  cannot  tell, 
But  God  knows  'tis  well. 


OUR  BROTHERS  OF  THE  FIELDS  AND 
TREES 

T   DREAMED  that  I  was  Francis  of  Assisi 
•*•      In  shadowy  daisy  field  of  misty  dawn, 
The  children  of  the  air,  my  ministrants, 
Flocking  about  with  matins  of  sweet  song. 

"  My  tiny  choristers  of  field  and  tree, 
Blithe  winged  disciples,"  so  my  sermon  ran, 
"  I  bring  the  word  of  God  to  comfort  you, 
Good  tidings  of  our  Savior  Christ,  the  risen." 

And  thereupon  wings  flapped  about  my  face 
And  cries  derisive  rang  from  feathered  throats. 
"  You  of  the  Titan  race,"  they  shrilly  called, 
"  Who  preach  of  love  and  seek  us  but  to  slay, 
Apostates  revelling  in  lust  of  blood !  " 

A  mother  robin  'plained :     "  What  bliss  was  mine, 

What  hope,  what  promise  in  those  eggs  of  blue, 

Snug  in  my  plastered  cradle  hid  away 

Until  the  prying  bandit  eyes  had  pierced 

My  leafy  screen  and  my  dear  home  despoiled !  " 

"  Alas,"  outpiped  the  quail,  "  the  huntsman  came 
And  slew  my  chosen  mate,  and  called  it  sport, 
While  I  am  left  in  lonely  copse  to  mourn." 
59 


Our  Brothers  of  the  Fields  and  Trees 

Then  with  a  wail  of  anguish  winged  anigh 
A  snowy  egret  like  an  angel  white 
Out  of  the  mist  of  heaven  to  challenge  me : 
"  A  host  of  wings  erstwhile  amid  the  trees, 
A  throng  of  mothers'  hearts  about  the  nests! 
Ah  little  did  they  dream  of  ravage  drear, 
That  mothers  of  the  lordlier  race  of  men 
So  craved  our  nuptial  dower  of  airy  plumes 
That  they  should  have  us  slain  in  wantonness 
While  all  our  little  ones  with  piteous  cries 
Awaked  the  slow  stealing  on  of  death." 

Thereat  the  frantic  birds  came  clamoring  round 
To  mob  me  from  the  grove  with  mocking  scorn, 
When  loud  a  gun  pealed  forth  its  breath  of  doom, 
Some  passing  sportsman's  challenge  to  the  throng, 
And  lifeless  fluttered  down  a  feathery  form. 
Startled  I  roused  me  from  my  sombre  dream 
But  shook  not  off  the  woodland  reverie. 

What  is  this  life  we  take  so  wantonly? 
A  spark  of  God's  great  love  so  stamped  upon 
Because  we  have  the  craft  and  lust  to  kill ! 
What  Golden  Rule  is  made  for  man  alone  ? 
The  beast  looks  in  yours  eyes  and  cries  you  shame. 
Let  us  renounce  blood  sacraments  and  dare 
To  live  untainted  by  corrupting  flesh, 
And  in  the  might  of  tenderness  rejoice. 
60 


Our  Brothers  of  the  Fields  and  Trees 

Methinks  that  Buddha's  way  leads  unto  peace 
Through  kinship  with  the  least  and  lowliest  lives. 
All  are  God's  children,  even  as  thou  and  I, 
United  in  the  spirit  brotherhood, 
And  in  th'  eternal  reckoning  shall  be 
Accounted  in  the  great  Creator's  plan. 


61 


THE  MASTER 
IN  MEMORY  OF  HENRY  HOLMES 

WE  press  the  hemlock  to  the  lips  of  Socrates, 
Our  Christ  we  crucify,  Jeanne  d'Arc  we  cast 

to  flames, 
And  Shelley  banish  as  an  infidel. 

O  master  of  celestial  music's  realm, 
O  comrade  in  the  world  of  melody, 
What  must  we  suffer  as  we  Godward  yearn ! 

Pain  is  the  price  of  beauty,  and  in  vain 
We  conjure  up  fair  pageantries  of  sound, 
To  ears  that  hear  not,  offering  our  prayer. 

O  dreamer  of  fair  dreams  melodious, 

Thy  gift  of  love  to  hearts  that  heed  thee  not, 

Why  are  God's  emissaries  so  denied  ? 

But  slowly  shall  the  sleeper  find  his  own, 
His  tribute  to  soul  beauty  gaining  power, 
Swelling  adown  the  years  its  lofty  plea. 

Knocking  at  hearts'  sealed  chambers  till  they  ope 
In  wonder  to  the  message,  and  we  hear 
62 


The  Master 


Lips  murmur:     Ah  could  we  have  known  the  man, 
How  would  we  then  have  loved  and  honored  him ! 

Too  late!  too  late! 

We  stone  our  prophets  and  then  mourn  their  fate, 
Pronounce  anathemas  before  we  praise, 
Cry  out  the  wrongs  we  cannot  rectify, 
Deny  the  master  when  we  see  him  pass, 
Question  and  cavil  when  he  pleads  for  grace, 
Then,  when  the  noisy  world  vouchsafes  acclaim 
Cry  hail !     But  he  is  dead.     Long  live  the  king ! 

Dead  did  I  say?     O  God,  forgive, 

We  die  but  to  more  truly  live, 

Free  from  the  dross  of  earth  that  weighs 

And  cumbers  the  sad  soul  with  weary  days. 

Hark!  canst  not  hear  great  Bach's  immortal  strain, 
And  Beethoven's  high  paeans  of  God-like  pain? 
The  maestro  plays  today  in  other  spheres, 
And  could  we  hear  him  it  would  startle  tears 
To  our  cold  eyes  and  quicken  the  slow  beat 
Of  hearts  that  throb  not  with  prophetic  heat. 

Ah  will  we  never  learn  that  love  is  best, 
That  each  great  soul  that  toils  in  beauty's  quest 
Creates  not  creeds  and  forms  to  stifle  soul 
But  builds  a  rainbow  span  from  goal  to  goal, 

63 


The  Master 


From  earth  to  heaven,  from  flesh  to  spirit  pure? 
O  doubting  heart,  of  this  one  truth  be  sure, 
Though  worlds  may  waste  and  suns  grow  dead  and 

cold, 

God  cannot  spare  one  gleam  of  the  sun  gold 
Of  love,  but  treasures  all  to  be 
Builded  in  beauty  for  eternity. 


ON  HEARING  MUSIC 
To  ADELA  VERNE 

BUILDER  of  sky  pavilions  of  God-aspiring  tone, 
Reared  unto  radiant  glory  and  fashioned  of  spirit 

alone ; 

Wielder  of  mystical  melodies  woven  of  tremulous  sound, 
Hymning  of  angels  attends  thee,  and  splendor  of  heaven 
is  round. 

Hush'd  is  the  air  and  breathless  as  melodies  liquidly 

glide, 
Swelling  into  a  tumult  and  sweeping  the  brain  like  a 

tide, 
Storming  the  sea  of  passion  and  shouting  triumphant 

glee, 
For  the  soul  from  its  fetters  is  loosened  and  music  hath 

set  it  free. 

Out  of  the  temples  of  cloudland,  priests  in  processional 
far 

Fare  away  singing  forever  in  quest  of  the  ultimate  star; 

Chargers  of  heav'n  are  trampling  the  rainbow  paths 
that  span 

The  haunts  of  the  hymning  seraphs  with  this  earth- 
bound  home  of  man. 

65 


On  Hearing  Music 


And  list!     'Tis  the  silver  footfalls  of  the  wraiths  of 

the  wandering  spheres, 
And  the  ghosts  of  the  host  of  the  masters  returned  on 

the  tide  of  years, 
Living  again  and  loving  the  world  that  has  spurned 

them  long, 
Binding  fond  hearts  with  courage,  and  bidding  fond 

hope  be  strong. 

Challenging  man  with  music  and  charging  him  soar 

from  earth, 

Bursting  the  chrysalis  custom  at  radiant  Psyche's  birth ; 
Freeing  the  flesh  from  thralldom,  winging  the  man  with 

fire, 
For  what  of  the  strife  and  hunger,  save  to  make  the 

soul  aspire? 

You  who  commune  with  the  masters,  with  craft  to 

reveal  their  hearts, 
Know  all  the  pain  and  the  rapture  which  the  grace  of 

your  giving  imparts ; 
Fleeting  the  sounds  as  they  follow  and  into  the  silence 

glide, 
But  sweet  is  the  dream  that  lingers  and  strong  are  the 

joys  that  abide. 


66 


THE  PAINTER 
WILLIAM  KEITH 

WITH  senses  dulled  and  eyes  lacklustreless 
We  look  on  nature,  having  not  the  key 
To  world-old  treasuries  of  beauty,  free 
Alone  to  haunters  of  the  wilderness, 

To  spirits  who  in  solitude  commune 
In  that  dim  world  of  fancy  not  of  earth 
Where  teeming  treasuries  of  thought  have  birth 

And  souls  with  tremulous  beauty  are  in  tune. 

We,  having  eyes  that  see  not,  needs  must  learn 
From  them  who  look  beneath  the  passing  show, 
Enkindling  nature  with  the  ardent  glow 

Of  spirits  who  toward  hallowed  altars  yearn. 

Our  restless  sense-enthralled  lives  are  spent 
In  fruitless  quests  that  boot  us  naught  of  worth 
Unless  we  fashion  something  out  of  earth 

To  yield  us  beauty  and  divine  content. 

So  unto  you,  good  friend,  I  turn  and  say, 
Well  done  O  toiler  who  unceasingly 
Has  striven  with  nature's  show  for  mastery, 

Has  wrought  fair  scenes  that  will  not  fade  away. 


The  Painter 


You  reverently  have  gazed  on  hill  and  tree, 
On  cloud-hung  sky  transcribed  in  glassy  pool, 
On  snowy  mount  and  shadowy  canon  cool, 

On  all  of  California's  pageantry, 

And  with  obedient  brush  portrayed  her  moods 
Attuned  to  your  own  high  imaginings 
Of  haunted  woods  and  skies  an  angel's  wings 

Had  fanned  amid  celestial  solitudes. 

Nature,  so  filtered  through  a  poet's  soul 
That  only  beauty  stays  in  glorious  guise, 
Startles  us  as  we  look  in  fresh  surprise 

On  wind-tossed  trees  and  sunset  clouds  that  roll, 

On  purple  vistas  through  the  shadowy  boughs, 
On  golden  oaks  where  tranced  lovers  stray, 
And  meadows  pranked  in  tender  green  of  May 

Or  sere  when  toilers  stack  the  rounded  mows. 

So  friend,  interpreter  of  nature's  heart, 
Creator  of  a  world  of  radiant  dreams, 
Transfigurer  of  evanescent  beams 

Of  sun  that  from  the  cloudy  heavens  dart, 

I  hail  you  master,  by  the  western  sea, 
To  you  we  owe  all  loving  gratitude 
For  this  rich  treasure  of  a  life  imbued 

With  beauty,  spent  in  toil  so  lavishly 
68 


The  Painter 


That  all  might  share  the  vision  you  possess, 
In  reverent  transcripts  of  the  golden  light, 
In  fond  communings  with  the  holy  night 

Revealing  nature's  strength  and  tenderness. 


TO  INA  COOLBRITH 
THE  CALIFORNIA  POETESS 

WISTFUL  the  grace  of  the  autumn  with  mellow 
ing  mist  in  the  valleys, 
With  herbage  green  of  the  early  rains  when  life  in  the 

sered  grass  rallies; 
Gracious  the  wane  of  the  season  when  th'  wind  in  the 

laurels  is  sighing, 
For  we  know  that  the  spring  is  awaiting  to  rise  from 

rne  year  that  is  gloriously  dying; 
Even  as  the  brown  leaves  fall  from  the  bough  are  the 

green  buds  bursting, 
And  the  angel  of  death  holds  the  cup  of  love  to  the 

lips  with  longing  thirsting. 

Afar  o'er  the  region  in  rapture  the  spirit  of  beauty  has 
printed 

God's  seal  on  the  radiant  land  of  his  loving  and  th' 
grace  of  the  sun-king  has  glinted 

From  the  ranges  of  sky-searching  granite  to  the  foam- 
rimmed  roaring  ocean 

Where  th'  orient  winds  o'er  the  fretted  sea  have  winged 
in  their  wild  commotion ; 

And  th'  rune  of  the  surf  and  the  croon  of  the  pines  and 
the  whisper  of  flowers, 
70 


To  Ina  Coolbrith 


Commingled  in  chorals  ascend  from  the  vales  and  the 

high  imperial  towers, 
Singing  of  El  Dorado,  of  the  realm  that  we  know  is 

truly 
The  Golden  Gate  where  the  spirits  await  on  their  way 

to  the  Ultima  Thule. 

O  uncrowned  queen  of  the  minstrels  who  sing  in  the 

wild-wood  hollows, 
Songs   like   the   tremulous   thrush's   are   thine   as   the 

gloaming  the  hot  day  follows, 
Songs  that  are  throbbing  with  longing  and  sobs  of  the 

dusk  wind  stealing, 
Songs   of   the   heart   of    the   care-ladened   host,    their 

tumultuous  hopes  revealing. 
Little  the  world  will  listen   to   the  rustle  of   angels 

winging, 
And  the  gold-mad  throng  will  catch  but  an  echoing 

throb  from  the  strains  you  are  singing, 
But  long  may  you  sing  as  the  bird  sings  because  of  a 

heart  o'erflowing, 
And  strong  may  the  tones  of  your  lute  outring  from  the 

depths  of  a  spirit  glowing. 

O  we  who  have  stood  in  the  shadow  and  looked  on  the 

light  in  its  glory, 
O  we  who  have  suffered  alone  and  in  silence,  or  broken 

in  song  the  heart  story, 

71 


To  Ina  Coolbrith 


We  know,  do  we  not,  that  the  bounty  of  beauty  through 
sorrow  is  given, 

That  the  most  mellifluous  measures  of  music  betoken 
a  heart  that  is  riven. 

As  the  swan  with  the  dart  at  its  breast  sings  bewilder 
ing  strains  in  dying, 

And  the  leaves  frost-bitten  flame  forth  in  glory,  their 
banners  of  triumph  flying, 

As  the  rose  exhales  its  fragrance  when  its  petals  are 
crushed  and  sundered, 

And  the  laurel  perfumes  the  ax  unfeeling  that  into  its 
core  has  blundered, 

So,  when  the  heart  is  awearied  with  the  years  with 

their  mocking  laughter, 
And  the  witches'  gaze  in  the  crystal  sphere  scarce  sees 

what  is  coming  after, 
To   the   Spirit   Ineffable   turn   we,   in   trust   that  the 

cosmos  around  us 
Was  builded  of  beauty  forever  in  widening  spheres  to 

enfold  us  and  bound  us, 
Was  builded  of  love  so  enduring  that  the  flesh  unto 

ashes  returning 
Shall  leave  the  soul  free  on  its  journey  of  song  through 

the  bright  empyrean  upyearning. 


FATE 

SNAPPING  and  snarling  and  gnawing  insatiate, 
^  Fate  is  a  dog  with  a  bone  in  its  teeth  ; 
Fate  is  a  cat  with  a  quivering  mouse 
And  it  tosses  its  prey  in  the  air  for  sport : 
Lo,  I  am  the  bone,  and  I  am  the  mouse! 

Fate  is  a  player  of  tennis  with  his  racket, 
Batting  the  ball  in  the  game  of  life, 
And  I  am  the  ball  flying  hither  and  thither ; 
Fate  is  a  chess-player  studying  his  moves, 
And  I  but  a  pawn  in  the  game  on  the  board. 

At  least,  such  I  was  till  I  roused  me  and  rallied 
To  play  in  the  game  with  a  vim  and  a  will ; 
To  be  not  the  blind  sport  of  Fate  the  inscrutable, 
Not  the  bone  or  the  mouse  or  the  ball  or  the  pawn, 
But  the  player  who  matches  with  Fate,  and  wins! 


73 


THE  JOY  BRINGER 

OUT  of  the  mountains  a  fay-child  came  laughing  to 
me, 
And  the  balsam  of  pines  was  in  her  breath,  and  her 

hair  was  free, 
Wind-toyed  and  wild,  and  her  brown  eyes  looked  in 

mine, 

And  her  berry-red  lips  quivered  with  wanton  witchery 
As  she  cried:     "  Behold,  I  am  the  joy  bringer!     I  am 
the  joy  bringer! 

Sound  of  all  sweet  bird  songs  was  in  her  tone, 
Field-larks  a-fluting  out  of  autumn  corn, 
Reed-calls  of  red-wings  from  the  cat-tails  blown, 
The  arabesque  of  th'  robin  in  the  pines  at  morn, 
Were  wafted  to  my  heart  by  the  tones  of  the  eerie 
singer. 

The  glad  surf  singing  on  moon-bright  coral  shore, 
Sound  of  the  wind  in  the  woodland,  of  the  patter  of 

rain  on  the  leaves, 
Sound  of  the  purling  brooklet,  conning  its  love-dream 


o'er, 


74 


The  Joy  Bringer 


Sound  of  the  spell  that  the  voices  of  love  about  me 

weaves 
Were  all  in  the  tones  of  the  fay-child,  the  joy  bringer. 

Her  elf-eyes  sparkled  with  laughter  as  she  beamed  on 

me, 
And  the  wild  abandon  of  childhood  graced  her  lithe 

limbs  in  play, 
Fay-child,  bewildering,  winsome,  thou  boldest  my  heart 

in  fee, 
Come,  take  me  forth  into  cloud-land,  for  I  would  be  up 

and  away, 
Out  of  the  world  with  thee,  my  lark,  my  joy-bringer! 

Then  she  laughed  again  and  faded,  like  a  wraith  of  mist 
in  the  sun, 

I  stretched  forth  my  arms  to  enfold  her,  but  the  night- 
dew  chilled  my  palm. 

O  little  flower  of  the  fairies,  I  had  nearly  plucked  you 
and  won 

Out  of  the  night  and  the  tumult  the  heart's  eternal 
balm: 

Hark,  afar,  and  fainter,  the  song  of  my  fay-child,  the 
joy  bringer! 

But  never  again  for  me  will  the  world  roll  on  in  its 

madness, 
In  its  wild  unheedful  quest  of  the  bubbles  a  child  may 

burst, 

75 


The  Joy  Bringer 


For  lo,  I  have  laid  in  my  heart  the  golden  promise  of 

gladness, 
Have  quaffed  of  the  chalice  of  love,  with  its  quenchless 

spirit  thirst, 
Have   harked   to   the  song  of   the   fay-child,   the   joy 

bringer. 


76 


LOVE'S  DOWER 

IN  God's  vast  universe  I  stood  alone 
And  watched  the  stars  whirl  on  their  destined 

way, 
Amid  the  firmament  afar  they  shone 

As  from  my  peak  I  marked  them  in  dismay. 

An  ant  I  crawled,  so  impotent  and  frail, 

'Neath  incandescent  worlds  that  swept  about, 

This  flickering  candle  life,  of  what  avail 

With  blazing  suns  on  high  my  hopes  to  flout  ? 

And  then  Love  came  and  claimed  me  in  the  night, 
And  lo,  I  grew  until  my  spirit,  fired 

By  her  immortal  frenzy  of  delight, 
Unto  the  splendor  of  the  stars  aspired. 

Ah  Love,  we  two  in  harmony  create 

A  universe  of  beauty  and  of  power 
Wrought  out  of  spirit  mightier  than  fate; 

My  bride  hath  brought  the  world  to  me  for  dower. 


77 


AT  THE  FERRY 

CHIRP  out  your  cries  of  news,  blithe  sparrows  of 
the  curb, 
But  not  for  me, 

I  read  it  all  in  a  musty  vellum  tome : 
How  this  bedevilled  wretch  blew  out  the  light 
Of  life's  dim  candle,  and  the  other 
Plucked  the  ripe  fruit  his  master's  sweat  had  grown; 
And  yet  another  wooed  and  won  the  wife 
His  friend  had  placed  upon  a  pedestal. 

Such  the  world's  tidings  flung  i'  th'  face  of  crowds 
That  press  and  jostle  towards  the  ferry! 
Clang!     The  gates  slam  shut, 
But  still  the  sombre  drove  comes  surging  on. 

Be  not  so  eager,  tense-faced  hurrying  host, 
Anon  the  gates  will  open  to  receive  you  all; 
Charon,  the  ferryman,  refuses  none  who  come, 
Gray-beards  and  babes  alike  pass  through  the  open  gate. 

So  ends  your  feverish  day,  O  city  folk  who  rush 

Pell  mell   adown   life's  street  to   catch   the  outgoing 

boat. 
The  night  is  black  upon  the  bay,  and  damp 

78  ' 


At  the  Ferry 


The  sea-mist  sweeps,  enfolding  craft  and  passengers ; 
But  still  they  come,  onrushing  like  the  stream  of  Fate 
Unto  the  Stygian  shore  where  waits  the  ferryman. 

Ah  many  and  many  a  time  have  I  been  told  farewell 
By  friends,  imperious  summoned  to  cross  that  darksome 

way, 

And  I  have  stood  so  wistful  on  the  shore 
And  waved  adieu  and  seen  the  ferry  fade  upon  the 

night, 
Knowing  that  never  would  those  dear  ones  tread  with 

me 
Again  the  old  familiar  city  streets  of  home. 

"  Some  word,  dear  heart,  O  send  to  me !  "  I  fondly 

cried, 

"  Some  treasure  token  from  the  shadow  haunts  of  sleep, 
That  I  may  know  you  have  been  safely  wafted  o'er !  " 
And  then,  from  out  the  night,  a  snowy  sea-gull  flew 
Straight  unto  me,  and  at  my  feet  let  fall  a  plume. 
I  seized  it,  and  thereon  in  letters  as  of  flame 
I  read  the  name  of  my  beloved  passenger. 


79 


THE  PEOPLE  OF  THE  GRAVES 
PART  I 

WAN  is  the  moon  tonight, 
And  its  pallid  glinting  light, 
Filtered  thro'  the  fleeting  clouds, 
Wavers  o'er  the  silent  crowds 
Of  the  city  of  the  dead, 
Where,  reluctant  I  am  led, 
Stumbling  o'er  forgotten  tombs. 
Hark,  the  restless  ocean  booms 
Far  on  some  forbidding  shore, 
Sobbing  with  its  muffled  roar. 
What  is  that?     'Tis  but  the  breeze 
Sweeping  thro'  the  cypress  trees! 
O,  that  shriek !     An  owl's  cry 
Wafted  from  the  troubled  sky ! 
Look !     That  figure  standing  lone ! 
'Tis  an  angel  hewn  of  stone! 
How  the  wannish  moonlight  sickens 
As  the  mist  about  me  thickens ; 
How  the  leaves  are  all  a-sighing; 
There  are  voices  now  replying, 
Voices  of  the  tolling  bells, 
Wailing  crash  amid  the  dells, 
As  a  funeral  train  belated 

80 


The  People  of  the  Graves 


Wends  its  way  to  waiting  grave. 

Heaven's  balm  I  vainly  crave! 

O  my  thumping  heart,  why  beat  so  fast? 

Surely  a  human  form  went  shuddering  past ! 

Hist !  that  long  wail  is  the  cry  of  the  troubled  dead ! 

Look !  yonder  luminous  light !  'twas  a  ghost  that  before 

me  sped ! 

Now  from  the  graves  a  myriad  spectres  rise  and  veer, 
See  the  grim  ghastly  faces  thro'  the  darkness  peer, 
See  all  their  phosphorescent  fluttering  robes  so  pale, 
Flapping  in  the  shouting  gale. 
Can  it  be  the  resurrection  night? 

0  God  I  quail  at  the  uncanny  sight, 

At  grewsome  skeletons  in  cerements  round, 

At  ghosts  or  ghouls  upstarting  from  the  ground! 

Have  mercy,  save  me  from  th'  unhallowed  spell, 

1  reel  through  darkness  down  the  steeps  of  Hell. 

PART  II 

Sweet  wafted  music  lulls  my  soul  distraught ; 
Sealed  are  mine  eyes  but  peace  hath  come  unsought. 
Have  they  borne  me  unto  the  church  from  the  cruel 

storm  ? 

Again  the  light,  and  lo,  a  radiant  form 
Beckons  me  on  and  upward  toward  the  choir 
Singing  in  rapture  jubilantly  nigher. 
Joyous  now  the  bells  are  ringing, 
Chiming  with  the  choir's  singing, 
81 


The  People  of  the  Graves 


And  the  organ  pipes,  a-quiver, 

Loud  proclaim  the  blessed  giver 

Of  light  and  life  and  love! 

How  she  waves  to  me  above. 

My  radiant  guide! 

Whate'er  betide 

I  will  climb  aloft  where  you  abide! 

But  see,  the  great  cathedral  arches  fade 

While  my  guide  smiles  undismayed. 

Over  clouds  we  wander  free, 

Treading  an  aerial  sea 

Golden  lighted  like  the  morn 

When  the  king  of  light  is  born. 

And  about  me  is  a  vast  processional 
Of  joyous  spirits  sweeping  up  to  Mars 
Where  they  dwell, 

Or  wandering  amid  the  radiant  stars ; 
Lo  what  are  these  fairy  cities, 
With  towers  and  minarets  and  spires, 
With  fountains  and  all  the  heart  desires? 
Where  mothers  sing  little  lilting  ditties 
To  dancing  children  and  lovers  roam 
'Mid  flower-starred  fields  in  the  saffron  gloam? 
I  asked  my  guide,  my  radiant  one, 
Whereat  she  smiled  and  put  her  lily  arms 
About  my  neck  and  kissed  me  like  the  sun 
Kissing  the  flowers  ere  a  cloud  alarms 
These  lovers  of  a  wild-wood  summer  morn, 

82 


The  People  of  the  Graves 


And  cried,  "  Behold  beloved,  now  art  thou  reborn, 
No  league  of  darkness  clouds  the  grave  for  thee, 
From  all  death  phantoms  is  thy  spirit  free!  " 

And  lo,  joy  fell  upon  me  like  a  benediction  bright, 

For  through  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  unto  light 

Had  I  been  led 

To  hold  high  converse  with  the  dead, 

To  learn  that  our  beloved  shadow-sisters  dwell 

In  fields  Elysian,  paved  with  asphodel, 

That  only  haunters  of  the  earthly  plane, 

Frail  neophytes  who  grow  through  sin  and  pain, 

Are  chained   and   clogged  with   fetters   that  enmesh; 

But  patience,  brother,  soon  mayest  thou  discard  the  flesh 

To  soar  and  sing  like  mating  lark  in  May. 

For  every  mortal  comes  a  bridal  day 

When  Death  is  wedded  and  the  singing  spheres, 

Enfolding  with  their  choir  Earth's  vale  of  tears, 

Chants  to  the  spirit  on  its  star-strewn  path 

The  rapture  of  life's  radiant  aftermath; 

Chants  of  undying  love  and  fadeless  youth 

And  beauty  flowering  on  the  tree  of  Truth. 

If  this  be  thy  demesne,  O  Death,  I  cry  to  thee: 

Praise  the  deliverer,  Lord  of  Immortality! 


YEARNING  AFTER  THE  INFINITE 

"DUDDHA,  Confucius,  Christ, 

•*-*  Mahomet  and  Socrates! 

Shall  we  worship  one  as  a  god 

And  scorn  or  forget  the  rest  ? 

Is  our  skin  brown,  yellow  or  white  ? 

Were  we  born  in  the  East  or  the  West? 

Knowest  not  they  are  all  divine? 
Teacher  and  prophet  each? 
Be  catholic  as  this  great  world 
With  its  wealth  of  life  to  give 
In  praise  of  the  living  God. 

But  no  one  can  live  or  die 

That  you  and  I  be  saved. 

No,  we  ourselves  are  Fate  ; 

Salvation  is  ours  alone 

To  wrest  from  the  hand  of  doom. 

When  the  preacher  has  had  his  say 
And  the  zealot  has  prayed  his  prayer, 
Come  out  where  the  stars  are  strewn 
And  brood  on  the  beauty  of  heav'n  ; 
Then  go  to  the  world  of  men 
And  live  and  labor  and  serve. 

84 


WAITING 

E  still,  my  heart,  and  wait 
While  pulse-throbs  thrill  in  temple  and  wrist, 
For  the  loved  one  comes  not  to  her  tryst ; 
Be  patient,  heart — 'tis  fate! 

Wait  as  the  weary  moments  pass, 
As  the  sand  sifts  thro'  the  mindless  glass ; 
Wait  as  the  bell  booms  out  the  hours  — 
O'er  summer  skies  the  storm-cloud  lowers! 

Wait  as  the  dim  ghost  days  glide  past; 

Be  still,  my  heart,  'tis  life, 

And  the  way  of  it  all  is  strife, 
Till  we  learn  to  stifle  the  pang  at  last. 

Wait  as  the  still  moons  wax  and  wane  — 
Is  it  meant  to  be  that  we  wait  in  vain  ? 
Wait  with  a  stifled  cry  on  the  lip 
As  the  years  like  tears  in  Time's  sea  drip. 

I  have  watched  the  sea's  horizon  gray  — 
Be  still,  my  heart,  and  wait  — 
But  my  ship  sailed  not  adown  the  bay 
In  thro'  the  Golden  Gate. 
85 


Waiting 


Faith  has  burned  to  smoke  and  ashes 

But  the  Phoenix  Hope  leaps  out  of  the  flame ; 
Would  that  the  weary  heart  might  claim 

This  boon  as  it  heavenward  flashes ! 

But  no,  we  must  wait,  and  forever  wait 
Till  the  heart  is  still  in  its  last  long  sleep, 

When  the  soul  awakens  to  meet  its  fate 
And  wends  its  way  through  the  starry  deep. 


86 


ON  THE  DEDICATION   OF  A  DRINKING 
FOUNTAIN 

ALAMEDA,  CALIFORNIA 

THE  skies  yielded  up  their  bounty  unto  the  earth; 
In  the  Sierra  heights  the  thunder-cloud  gave  of 
its  plenty, 

And  the  leaden  curtain  of  the  mist  of  the  winter  moons 

From  seaward  and  the  south  swept  in  to  drench  the 
valleys ; 

Yea,  the  teeming  mothers  of  the  heavens  gave  birth  to 
the  rain  children, 

And  the  earth  was  gladdened  and  sent  up  paeans  of  joy. 

The  grass-blades  were  the  prayers  of  the  grateful  land, 

And  the  happy  flowers  were  the  hymns  of  the  exultant 
earth. 

Then  all  the  little  rillets  began  to  sing  songs  of  praise ; 

Jubilant  canticles  of  swelling  brooks  arose  from  every 
mountain  side, 

And  the  voices  of  streams  all  joined  in  a  grand  halle 
lujah  chorus, 

And  the  rivers  chanted  in  deep-voiced  harmony  thanks 
giving  to  the  Sender  of  Rain. 

O  ye  babbling  brooks  and  mellifluous  rills, 

O  ye  laughing  waterfalls  and  crystal  cascades, 

87 


On  the  Dedication  of  a  Drinking  Fountain 

O  ye  joyous  life-giving  waters,   careering  deliriously 

downward, 
Sing  Te  Deums  triumphal  on  the  awakening  of  spirit 

from  earth! 


In  the  mountains  loom  the  titan  watchmen  pine-trees, 
And  the  vast  Sequoias  rear  their  sentinel  towers  anear 

the  streams; 

In  the  valley-lands  the  oaks,  benignant  guardians, 
Spread  their  gnarled  boughs  beside  the  rivers. 
There  the  wild  birds  come  to  drink, 
And  the  thirsty  bear  leads  forth  her  cubs  to  lap  the 

tide, 
And  the  native  woman,  grinding  acorns  in  potholes  by 

the  river, 
Scoops  up  the  water  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand  to  quench 

her  thirst. 

Then,  lo,  another  day,  another  race,  another  world ! 
The  white  man,  he  who  loves  power  more  than  beauty, 
The  ravager  of  nature,  the  destroyer  of  the  forest, 
The  slayer  of  all  wild  things,  of  trees  and  flowers  and 

birds, 

Cometh  unto  the  land,  and,  glorying  in  his  might, 
Lays  waste  all  things  most  fair. 
He  buildeth  cities  and  the  joyous  streams  he  leadeth 

into  murky  sewers, 
Yea,  the  sweet  springs  he  polluteth  and  hideth  beneath 

the  ground. 

88 


On  the  Dedication  of  a  Drinking  Fountain 

Where   once   were   flower-starred   banks   and   sighing 

trees 

He  buildeth  drear  walls  and  sad  unlovely  temples. 
But  the  still  small  voice  of  the  brooklet  aye  whispers 

unto  him, 
And  the  mute  appeals  of  thirsty  brutes  still  clamor  for 

the  life-giving  water. 
Though  the  deer  and  the  mountain  lion  no  longer  roam 

abroad, 
The  helpless  beasts  by  man  subdued  look  up  into  his 

face 
And  silent  beg  for  drink. 

Then  somewhere  in  the  great  cold  heart  of  man 

Awakens  the  spirit  of  tenderness  and  compassion, 

And  the  selfish  monster  arouses  out  of  his  lethargy, 

And  the  God-spark  kindles  love  in  him, 

And  he  knows  that  the  beast  is  his  brother; 

Aye,  he  knows  that  there  is  but  one  family  and  one 

Father, 
And  he  loves  the  helpless  ones  and  stretches  out  a  hand 

to  them. 

Come,  come  O  children,  little  brothers  and  great, 
Let  us  drink  together,  for  this  is  the  holy  sacrament, 
This  is  the  communion  service  in  which  we  all  may 

join, 
This,  the  life-giving  water,  O  my  brothers,  little  birds 

and  faithful  dogs  and  patient  horses, 


On  the  Dedication  of  a  Drinking  Fountain 

The  same  sweet  water  that  quenches  your  thirst  and 

mine, 
Drink  of  this  holy  fountain  reared  in  the  midst  of  the 

sordid  city, 

Drink  that  you  may  be  appeased  and  satisfied, 
Drink,  for  such  is  the  will  of  God,  my  brothers, 
And  he  who  thinks  of  the  least  of  the  children  of  the 

all-merciful  Father, 
Aye  he  shall  be  rewarded  with  the  gift  of  love  from  on 

high, 
And  the  bond  of  fellowship  shall  gather  him  in  with 

its  benediction. 


90 


THE  SECRET  OF  LIFE 

T    IGHT  dreamings  of  fancy  that  waft  me  afar, 
•*—'  In  thy  regions  romantic,  'mid  days  that  are  dead 
I  linger  in  gladness  and  through  the  cool  shadows 
That  waver  so  fairly,  gaily  I  roam. 

I  rove  where  the  passionate  flowers  are  lifting 
Slim  stems  through  the  covert  to  look  on  their  God ; 
I  linger  in  moments  of  longing  and  loving 
When  heart  speaks  to  heart  through  the  beats  of  a  song. 

Through  heart-beats  and  song-beats,  through  pain  and 

through  joy, 

Through  the  longings  unsated  no  words  can  express, 
I  found  in  my  dreamings  the  secret  of  life, 
And  lo  it  was  love  that  I  clasped  at  my  heart ! 


WITH  THE  DEAD 

MOTHER!     Is  it  you,  O  Mother? 
So  young,  so  joyous  grown, 
You  who  methought  had  died 
Long  years  agone !     O  Mother, 
You  take  me  in  your  arms 
As  when  I  was  a  child, 
Mother,  O  Mother! 

I  have  been  ill,  so  ill, 

So  racked  with  pain,  dear  Mother, 

And  then  I  fell  asleep 

To  waken  here  with  you, 

To  find  you  watching  me 

As  was  your  wont  of  eld, 

Mother,  my  Mother! 

How  light  it  seems, 

How  brightly  glows 

The  diamond  sparkling  sky ! 

With  rainbow  mist 

And  amethyst 

And  your  smile,  Mother  mine ! 

And  who  comes  down 
Yon  flower-strewn  lane? 
What  maiden  blithe 
With  golden  hair, 

92 


With  the  Dead 


All  robed  in  white, 

With  nimbus  crowned, 

And  gleeful  child 

Sporting  about  her  like  a  fairy  elf? 

Nay,  speak,  O  vision! 

It  cannot  be  I  see  aright, 

It  cannot  be  this  elfin  child 

Is  mine,  it  cannot  be  that  you 

Who  left  me  once  to  join  the  dead 

Have  come  to  me  again!     O  speak! 

The  wraith,  effulgent  opened  wide  her  arms, 

And  smiled  with  such  a  wistful  yearning  smile, 

It  seemed  an  angel  out  of  Paradise 

Had  come  to  me  and  claimed  me  for  her  own. 

But  even  as  I  reached  to  her  embrace 

She  gravely  shook  her  head  and  said  me  nay: 

"  They  need  you  in  the  sphere  below  today, 

And  I  can  wait  beloved ;  I  can  wait." 

Those  spirits  twain 

With  th'  happy  child 

Dissolved  before  my  yearning  eyes, 

The  flowers,  the  light, 

All,  all  grew  dim 

And  I  was  left  in  darkness  lone. 

The  doctor  with  his  fingers  on  my  pulse 
Spake  softly  to  the  nurse:     "  His  breath  returns, 
He  has  survived  the  crisis  —  all  is  well !  " 
93 


THE  AWAKENING 

OTRANGE  marvel  tales  I  read  as  in  a  trance, 
^  But  none  so  wonder-wrought  as  this  of  life, 
Beginningless  and  endless,  wherein  dance 

The  puppets  we  call  men,  in  ceaseless  strife 
Ascending  out  of  chaos  for  a  day 
And  melting  like  the  April  snow  away. 

Whence  came  they  and  to  what  far  land  they  fare, 
These  shadow  spectres  of  a  world  of  dream? 

I  see  them  glide  along  the  way  of  care 

To  merge  to-morrow  in  oblivion's  stream, 

These  phantoms  trailing  through  the  troubled  night, 

Hallucinations  bat-like  in  their  flight. 

And  all  their  petty  anguish  and  deceit, 

Their  wasting  love  and  laughter's  transient  peal, 
Flung  at  the  mocking  god's  unheeding  feet 

In  vain  implored  their  purpose  to  reveal, 
As  souls  emerge  to  flicker  in  the  gloom 
Until  Death  snuffs  them  out  in  timeless  doom. 

But  O  awake,  somnambulist,  and  see 

Behind  the  pageant  of  the  dreams  of  fate 
The  living  spirit  of  eternity 

94 


The  Awakening 


Revealed  with  power  of  love  to  consecrate 
This  moment  where  the  past  and  future  meet, 
The  weary  farer  Life  in  joy  to  greet. 

The  yesterdays,  to-morrows,  what  are  they? 

To-day  sums  up  the  largess  of  the  soul, 
And  be  it  clothed  in  spirit  or  in  clay, 

In  heaven  or  earth  what  matters  how  time  roll 
If  we  but  see  and  know  our  dreams  are  true 
And  God  is  back  of  all  the  things  we  do! 


95 


THE  VENUS  OF  MELOS 

SOUL-SICK  I  fell  back  in  my  easy  chair; 
Dim  glowed  the  fire,  my  books  neglected  lay; 
'Twas  night,  so.  very  hushed  the  scrambling  mouse 
Affrighted,  cowered  silent  in  the  walls. 

Of  what  avails  this  delving  after  truth, 
This  tearing  out  the  heart  of  things  to  watch 
Its  beating  for  the  nonce,  this  eager  clutch 
At  dancing  motes  that  after  all  are  dust? 
What,  is  the  worm  the  master  of  the  feast, 
To  whose  grim  jest  we  each  obeisance  make? 

Thus  brooding,  down-cast,  as  my  idle  glance 
Roved  o'er  the  shelved  tomes,  it  chanced  to  fall 
On  Aphrodite  —  she  in  Melos  found 
Shorn  of  her  arms  but  still  supremely  fair  — 
Pedestaled  just  before  the  purple  arras; 
And,  as  I  looked  at  her,  I  mocking  cried, 
Poor  Venus,  now  indeed  art  thou  disarmed, 
Thou  hast  been  treasured  past  thy  Golden  Age 
That  men  might  scoff  at  thee,  so  impotent  — 
Goddess  of  Love  now  turned  to  bric-a-brac! 

96 


The  Venus  of  Melos 


But,  as  I  spoke,  her  sinuous  figure  stirred, 
And  from  her  limbs  the  careless  draperies  fell; 
Her  arms  restored,  upreached  with  winsome  grace 
As  lithely  from  her  height  she  leaped  adown, 
A  quivering  goddess,  born  as  from  the  foam, 
Standing  in  all  her  beauty  at  my  feet. 

Whereat  I  cried  out:     "  Goddess,  Aphrodite! 
Can  it  be  true  that  thou  hast  come  to  me 
Out  of  the  Golden  Age  of  Greece  to  bear 
Me  living  witness  that  thine  ancient  realm 
Of  beauty  is  not  whelmed  to  nothingness? 
Can  it  be  true  that  I  indeed  behold 
The  splendor  and  the  majesty  sublime 
Of  human  form  in  all  its  purity, 
Divine  embodiment  of  perfect  love?" 

And  Aphrodite  answered  me:     "  Alas 

How  changed  the  world,  how  dulled  the  heart  of 

man 

Since  that  bright  morning-tide  of  joy  and  love 
When  fervid  orisons  men  paid  to  me. 
'Tis  not  that  I  am  envious  of  the  race 
Debased  from  fealty  to  beauty's  shrine, 
But  deep  I  pity  their  perverted  hearts. 
Could  they  but  look  to  me  and  learn  again 
The  immaterial  joys  that  beauty  brings, 
Soul  joys  untainted  by  the  greed  of  men, 
Once  more  might  Naiades  breathe  pleading  strains 
97 


The  Venus  of  Melos 


Of  ravishment  on  dulcet  river  reeds 
To  lure  unhappy  earthlings  unto  peace; 
Again  would  every  flow'r  that  breaks  the  sod 
Be  bright  with  eloquence  of  beauty's  fire, 
And  mortals,  peering  thro'  the  forest  shade, 
Startled,  would  gaze  on  Dryads  'mid  the  trees, 
And  the  forbidden  bowers  Elysian, 
With  blithe  narcissus,  rose  and  hyacinth 
Bespread,  would  bloom  in  loveliness  again. 
Return  to  beauty,  O  benighted  one, 
And  open  all  thy  soul  to  gain  its  dower 
Of  joy  and  rapture.     Let  thy  every  sense 
Drink  to  the  full  this  nectar  of  the  gods 
Until  thy  being  thrills  in  harmony 
With  all  the  blessed  Olympian  hierarchy." 

I  strove  to  answer  her,  but,  awed  to  stone, 
Transfixed  in  adoration,  silent  sat. 
Mine  eyes  were  filmed  with  mist  and  in  a  swoon 
I  sank,  while  fainter  grew  the  haunting  tones 
Of  Aphrodite,  pleading  beauty's  sway. 
Then,  from  my  stupor,  sudden  roused  to  life, 
I  looked  and  saw  the  armless  statue  lorn, 
Battered  and  bruised  by  scorn  of  centuries, 
But  calmly  poised  as  if  awaiting  there 
The  Golden  Age  that  would  again  acclaim 
Her  sovereign  mistress  o'er  the  hearts  of  men. 
And  straight  I  vowed  that  I  would  consecrate 
My  life,  a  votive  offering  unto  her, 

98 


The  Venus  of  Melos 


And  cry  out  beauty  in  the  market  place, 
Till  men  should  pause  in  their  mad  rush  for  gold 
And  stand  transfixed  at  Aphrodite's  shrine 
And  learn  that  love  and  beauty  are  the  law. 


99 


THE  QUEST  OF  HAPPINESS 

1     ONG  time  agone  I  went  a-looking 
-*— '  For  the  little  goddess  of  Happiness, 
And  year  on  year  I  roamed  unceasing 
In  quest  of  her,  my  heart's  desire; 
Seeking  in  the  high  places, 
Searching  all  the  low  places, 
Up  and  down  the  world  I  went 
In  quest  of  her,  my  heart's  desire. 

To  some  she  seemed  to  come  unsought, 

But  not  to  me  who  longed  to  find  her, 

The  blessed  goddess  of  Happiness, 

So  shy,  so  coy,  so  hid  away 

She  seemed  to  flee  whene'er  I  called. 

"  O  wait,  O  stay,  elusive  one," 

I  cried,  but  only  in  reply 

I  heard  the  rustle  of  her  wings, 

I  saw  her  shadow  on  the  grass, 

I  caught  her  laughter  from  the  skies, 

And  lo,  she  had  eluded  me ! 

Ah,  fairy  goddess  of  my  desire, 

I  shall  capture  you  yet,  I  shall  find  you  and  snare  you, 
Even  as  Maui,  the  South  Sea  god, 
100 


The  Quest  of  Happiness 


Trapped  in  his  net  the  emerging  sun ! 
You  shall  be  love-captive  unto  me, 
Sunshine  goddess  of  Happiness, 
Some  day  before  I  yield  the  quest, 
Even  as  Sir  Percival  who  won  the  grail 
Will  I  hold  you,  my  holy  one ! 

And  so  I  went  forth  and  ransacked  the  mountains 

To  find  only  Solitude  waiting  me  there 

With  tears  in  her  eyes,  she  was  so  lonely, 

And  I  called  beseechingly  unto  her : 

"  O  fair  one  whither  away  has  flown 

The  fairy  goddess  of  Happiness?  " 

And  she  answered :     "  Before  you  came  anear 

She  was  here,  in  the  pine  trees 

With  the  chickadees  and  squirrels, 

She  was  here,  in  the  snow-flakes 

That  whirl  about  my  summits, 

She  was  here  in  the  glacier  streams 

That  leap  and  laugh  adown  my  canons, 

But  now  she  has  flown  as  the  birds  fly  away 

When  the  gathering  blasts  of  the  winter  assail  them." 

Then  I  thought,  perchance  she  has  fled  to  the  ocean, 
And  I  sailed  forth  to  wander  illimitable  reaches 
With  white  crests  bright  glistening 
Upon  the  blue  waters  where  trade  winds  were  blowing, 
And  southward  where  tempests 
Were  howling  in  darkness, 
101 


The  Quest  of  Happiness 


Down,  down  o'er  the  ice-floes 

Of  wild  seas  Antarctic. 

There  too  was  the  sad  one,  the  mistress  of  sorrow, 

The  same  omnipresent  one,  Solitude,  hovering 

O'er  cloud-haunted  troublous  reaches  of  ocean; 

And  again  I  cried  unto  her,  yearning,  imploring: 

"  O  fair  one,  whither  away  has  flown 

The  little  goddess  of  Happiness?" 

And  again  she  replied,  as  of  eld  in  the  mountains: 

"  She  was  here,  on  the  wave-crests, 

In  the  arch  of  the  rainbow, 

On  the  back  of  the  albatross 

Sweeping  and  swinging; 

She  was  here  with  the  petrels 

Before  the  storm  fleeing, 

'Mid  the  great  bergs  majestic 

Of  ice-crags  of  azure, 

But  now  she  has  fled  as  the  sun-beams  that  hide 

When  the  clouds  crowd  together  to  darken  the  day." 

So  I  went  unto  the  city,  aye  seeking 

For  the  little  goddess  of  Happiness, 

And  I  bethought  me,  surely  she, 

Like  all  the  rest,  is  here  for  sale, 

And  I  will  earn  her  with  a  store  of  gold; 

Like  all  the  rest  she  hath  her  price. 

I  wrung  the  gold  from  hands  unwilling, 
I  snatched  it  from  my  brother's  purse, 
102 


The  Quest  of  Happiness 


I  plucked  it  from  the  sordid  poor; 

I  could  not  stop  at  any  cost 

For  I  must  gain  the  gold  I  need 

To  buy  you,  little  goddess  of  Happiness. 

Anon  my  coffers  were  stored  with  gold, 
Gold  filched  in  tolls  from  rich  and  poor, 
And  now,  methought,  shall  I  go  forth 
To  buy  you,  elusive  goddess  of  Happiness. 
But  when  I  asked  of  men  the  way 
To  th'  market  where  happiness  was  sold 
They  laughed  and  said  the  stock  was  gone, 
No  more  had  they  at  any  price. 

"  Alas,"  quoth  I,  "  my  quest  is  vain, 

I  will  seek  no  more  to  find  delight. 

My  little  goddess  is  but  a  myth !  " 

So  I  gave  away  my  riches, 

Cast  aside  my  vain  desires 

And  forgot  my  futile  longings, 

When  one  night,  alone,  in  silence 

As  I  marked  the  clock's  loud  ticking, 

Spake  a  soft  voice  in  my  ear: 

"  Dost  thou  know  me  not,  beloved  ? 

I  am  the  goddess  of  Happiness 

Come  to  abide  with  thee  now  and  forever." 


103 


LOVE  IS  ALL 

FROM  the  womb 
To  the  tomb  — 
This  is  life,  O  love! 
Panting  breath 
Unto  death 
All  the  strife,  O  love! 

From  the  light 

Into  night 

Must  we  go,  dear  heart; 

We  but  wed 

When  the  dead 

We  know,  and  part! 

But,  ere  day 

Haste  away, 

Let  us  live,  O  love! 

Let  us  sing, 

Let  us  cling 

And  forgive,  O  love! 

Should  we  miss 
The  fond  kiss 
Life  were  vain,  dear  heart! 
104 


Love  Is  All 


Should  we  yearn, 

And  yet  spurn 

Love  in  Pain,  dear  heart? 

Heed,  O  heed 
This  my  creed  — 
Love  is  all,  O  life! 
Past  the  grave 
It  can  save, 
It  can  call,  O  life! 

Death  is  naught 

We  are  taught, 

Life  is  king,  dear  heart; 

But  above 

Life,  is  love  — 

So  I  sing,  dear  heart! 


105 


THROUGH  SORROW'S  MIST 

DARK  and  inscrutable  the  will  of  Fate, 
Deep  as  the  ocean  of  all  human  tears, 
Since  man's  first  passion  woke  to  haunting  fears! 
Before  its  fiat,  silent,  we  await 

Our  lot  of  grief  or  joy,  our  boon  or  bane. 
God!  is  Thy  gift  of  love  revealed  in  pain? 

Sometimes  we  strive  and  win  or  lose  the  prize; 
Sometimes  we  trust  and  toil  for  goals  ahead, 
But  still  the  sphinx's  riddle  runs  unread, 

And  still  we  gaze  beyond  with  anxious  eyes, 
Fearing  yet  hoping  that  the  upturned  scroll 
May  spell  its  rune  of  solace  to  the  soul. 

The  heavy-winged  hours  of  leaden  pain 
Bear  me  unwilling  on  across  the  night, 
Voyaging  O  whither  in  my  fearsome  flight? 

But  all  my  eager  questionings  are  vain. 

Ah  when  will  break  the  dawn?     The  cock's  shrill 

cry 
Floats  mocking  up  and  dies  in  darksome  sky. 

The  gold  we  touch,  to  sordid  dust  descends; 

We  clutch  at  power  and  totter  to  the  grave; 

We  turn  to  Love;  ah  she  can  surely  save! 
Then  Atropos  with  grim  shears  o'er  her  bends 
1 06 


Through  Sorrow's  Mist 


And  snips  the  sacred  strand,  and  Love  is  dead; 
Thus  shall  the  Angel  Death  each  mortal  wed! 

I  met  a  stranger  on  the  King's  Highway, 
A  tattered  gray-beard  of  the  elden  time, 
Who  gripped  me,  walking  in  my  lusty  prime, 

And  with  soul-searching  voice  these  words  'gan  say: 
"  O  whither  goest  thou,  what  radiant  bourne 
Lures  thee,  young  rover,  on  thy  road  forlorn  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  seeker  of  the  spectral  realm 
The  triune  Norns  ineffable  control  — 
Truth,  Love  and  Beauty  —  mistresses  of  soul, 

God-yearning  spirits  that  shall  overwhelm 
The  carnal  host  in  earth-entrammelled  halls 
Where  Greed  is  potentate  and  Lust  enthralls." 

"  The  realm  thou  seekest,"  spake  the  ancient  sage, 

"  Is  girt  about  with  grief  and  hemmed  with  pain; 

Thy  quest  shall  verily  be  all  in  vain 
If  thou  canst  not  some  mortal  woe  assuage, 

Cope  with  wan  Sorrow  till  thy  soul  is  free  — 

Master  of  all  the  moods  of  misery." 

Ah  many  a  year  has  lapsed  ere  I  have  learned 
The  lesson  conned  in  coping  long  with  woe, 
Learned  what  in  days  agone  I  yearned  to  know 

When  on  the  King's  Highway  the  sage  I  spurned: 
That  sorrow's  mist  veils  God's  effulgent  light, 
And  they  who  pierce  it  see  the  vision  bright. 
107 


THE  CHILD  HEART 

THE  shy  flowers  smile  in  the  face  of  their  father, 
the  bountiful  Bright  One, 
The  wild  birds  chant  his  praise  when  he  smiles  with 

the  blessing  of  day; 
The  child  folk  follow  the  wood-things  into  the  wild 

with  laughter, 

And  you  and  I,  beloved,  shall  follow  them  all  away 
Into  the  fields  of  faery,  unto  the  haunted  wood, 
And  serve  them  ever  with  gladness,  and  learn  to  be 

pure  and  good. 


108 


DREAMING  IN  THE  CROWD 

WHAT  a  world  of  loneliness 
This,  the  strange  forbidding  city 
Where  the  hosts  of  people  pass 
With  never  a  nod  from  maid  or  man, 
With  never  a  smile  from  lass  or  lad! 

Are  they  real  or  shadow  people 

As  they  pass  me  in  the  city? 

How  they  chatter, 

How  they  clatter, 

How  they  bang  and  clang  and  scuffle! 

But  never  a  word  to  me  is  said, 

And  not  a  sign  or  a  sound  is  mine. 

O  mind  them  not,  these  phantom  beings, 
Heed  them  not,  these  walking  puppets 
(Thus  spake  a  voice  to  me) 
You  who  have  your  own  companions, 
You  who  roam  with  crowds  about  you  — 
Hosts  of  memories  and  fancies, 
Throngs  of  thoughts  that  live  and  linger, 
Dreams  of  love  and  haunting  beauty, 
Sweet  seductive  recollections, 
Opiate  spells  o'er  idle  hours, 
109 


Dreaming  in  the  Crowd 


Sudden  nightmares  big  with  terror, — 
All  returning,  pressing  near  you 
Like  a  swarm  of  bees  importunate 
Buzzing  round  the  empty  hive. 

Come,  O  friendly  thoughts,  we'll  wander 
Hand  in  hand  amid  the  meadows, 
Golden  glades  of  yester-year; 
Hark!  the  field-larks  sweetly  gurgle 
As  within  your  eyes  I  peer! 
Little  children  crowd  about  us, 
Tugging  with  their  tiny  hands 
At  the  heart-strings,  prattling,  singing, 
Laughing  in  the  misty  morn. 

And  who  are  you,  gnarled  hulk  of  man, 
Hobbling  along,  forlorn  and  glum, 
Amid  the  ruins  o'  the  City  of  Doom? 
Ah  yes,  old  palsy-stricken  derelict, 
I  know  you,  Sorrow!     You  in  days  agone 
Gloated  to  think  you  had  o'ermastered  me; 
But  now  your  ashen  face  and  whining  voice, 
Innocuous,  deceives  my  heart  no  more; 
Pass  on,  O  white-haired  renegade  of  life, 
I  snap  my  fingers  in  your  face  and  laugh; 
Slink  by,  thou  vain  imposter  of  the  soul, 
For  I  have  summoned  to  my  memory  feast 
More  fitting  guests,  and  would  not  have  you  near, 
Skulking  amid  the  shadows  at  my  door, 
no 


Dreaming  in  the  Crowd 


Ho,  royal  comrades,  Courage  and  Good  Cheer, 

Youths  with  the  tang  and  zest  of  life  in  your  veins, 

Come,  bide  with  me  and  keep  me  company. 

We  will  laugh  and  sing  and  frolic, — 

Hi  you  vagabonds  of  youth, 

Crowned  like  Bacchus  with  the  vine, 

Blowing  on  your  pipes  of  Pan, 

You  with  Naiads  for  companions, 

Dancing  Dryades  and  wood-fauns! 

Evoi !     Evoi ! 

O  joy,  O  joy! 

Breathe  the  air  of  the  forest, 

Feel  the  balm  of  the  rain, 

Shout  and  sing  in  the  morning, 

Cry  God  speed  to  night! 

Ah  where  am  I  with  wander  fancies? 
Shriek  of  whistle,  wheels  a-rumble, 
Harsh  inharmony  of  mortals 
Where  a  million  counter  motives 
Urge  the  frenzied  horde  to  madness. 
Come,  my  love,  my  Eldinora, 
Wild  fay  of  the  western  mountains, 
Take  my  hand,  for  I  am  blinded, 
Lead  me  from  the  feverish  city, 
Guide  me  to  your  wilding  woodland, 
Let  us  foot  it  to  the  forest, 
Teach  me  all  the  lore  of  love-land, 
Let  me  learn  to  live  in  quiet 
in 


Dreaming  in  the  Crowd 


And  forget  the  restless  rabble. 

There  my  hopes  and  dreams  of  beauty 

I  shall  gather  as  a  harvest 

In  the  hallowed  haunts  of  spirit. 


112 


PRAYER 

CRAVING  the  beatific  vision,  cried 
A  sage:     "O  where  'mid  wildernesses  wide 
Shall  God  be  found  to  hearken  to  my  prayer? 
For  I  have  swept  the  circumambient  air 
With  mystic  glass,  star-ranging,  plumbed  the  deep 
Where  vasty  silence  in  its  brooding  sweep 
Spells  habitants  of  ocean  in  its  thrall; 
Peered  tiptoe  through  the  leafy-arched  hall 
Where  Druid  oaks  their  groined  limbs  uplift, 
And  scaled  the  granite  dome  atop  the  clift, 
Aye  searching  for  the  Master  of  the  Masque, 
The  Lord  creative  at  his  timeless  task. 

"  But  when  the  mask  I  lift,  there  shines  no  face ; 

Upon  the  wheel  of  time  no  fingers'  grace 

Compels  the  clay  to  characters  of  life; 

I  see  but  pulsing  atoms  clash  in  strife, 

Obedient  to  the  urge  of  mindless  law. 

And  shall  I  pay  my  orisons  in  awe 

To  this  mute  force  that  marks  the  heaven-wide  path 

Of  blazing  suns,  or  with  chaotic  wrath 

Bursts  worlds  asunder  into  meteor  dust? 

Or  shall  I  kneel  before  the  force  august 

That  gropes  to  life  through  chemic  changes  fine 

And  flounders  upward  till  it  seems  divine?" 


Prayer 

No  answer  sighed  the  unconfiding  wind, 

No  answer  roared  the  inarticulate  sea; 

No  token  did  the  hungering  pilgrim  find, 

No  seal  of  God  'mid  earth's  mortality. 

But  when  he  reached  a  lorn  metropolis 

Where  men  o'er  wrought  with  gold's  consuming  fire 

Made  mock  of  virtue  in  the  marts,  where  bliss 

Evanished  in  the  fever  of  desire, 

He  sadly  gazed  about  the  multitude, 

Pitying  the  horde  that  passed  him  by  with  rude 

Contempt  for  one  from  gold  emancipate. 

He  could  not  leave  these  earthlings  to  their  fate 

But  toiled  to  lead  them  where  in  radiant  beams 

The  light  of  heaven  on  upturned  faces  streams, 

To  lure  them  forth  to  look  upon  the  blue 

That  domes  the  world  with  beauty;  and  there  grew 

A  wonder  in  his  heart  as  more  and  more 

He  searched  the  human  heart's  unfathomed  store, 

More  bottomless  than  ocean,  and  more  vast 

Than  orbit  of  the  comet  sweeping  past; 

More  terrible  than  black  tornado's  breath, 

More  gentle  than  the  calm  that  follows  death. 

"  Lo  I  have  searched  through  all  insensate  things 
For  token  of  the  Cosmic  King  of  Kings, 
But  found  no  sign.     Now  here  in  brother  man 
I  see  the  Master  laboring  at  his  plan. 
Gold-stifled  though  it  be,  the  spark  divine 
Down  each  soul-vista  may  be  seen  to  shine, 
114 


Prayer 

Lighting  the  spirit  paths  to  purer  spheres. 

God !     In  myself  Thy  presence  vast  inheres, 

My  larger  self  Thou  art,  wherein  I  stand 

In  glad  communion  with  that  laboring  band 

Of  mortals,  gross  and  fine,  corrupt  and  pure, 

Creators  of  the  world  that  shall  endure 

Beyond  the  clash  of  stars,  past  suns  grown  cold. 

To  this  one  creed  in  reverent  faith  I  hold, 

That  at  the  heart  of  each  blest  being  lies 

God's   presence,    whispering:     "Lagging   mortal   rise, 

In  service  of  thy  fellow-creatures  strain, 

Increase  of  love  shall  be  thy  joyous  gain ; 

Seek  for  the  truth  and  let  it  be  the  light 

To  beacon  thee  aye  upward  toward  the  right. 

"  Toil  to  create  that  beauty  which  shall  free 
Crude  earth  and  flesh  from  base  mortality, 
Which  shall  bring  heaven  about  us  from  the  skies 
When  God  beholds  his  work  through  mortal  eyes." 
This  is  my  prayer:     O  God  within  my  heart, 
Strengthen  my  will  that  I  may  live  my  part 
And  be  more  full  of  service,  thus  to  do 
In  deeds  of  grace  my  prayer,  and  prove  it  true. 


FRIENDS 

TJOOR  rum-soaked  rounder  of  the  tenderloin, 
•*•     Discarded  remnant  of  the  bargain  counter, 
Give  me  your  hand  and  talk  to  me,  I  pray, 
The  more  you  fall,  the  more  you  need  a  friend. 

Frail  painted  plaything  of  the  city  streets, 
The  poison  of  your  kisses  burns  no  more, 
The  world  may  shun  you  as  contaminate 
But  in  my  heart  I  find  a  place  for  you. 

You  little  nameless  playfellow  of  shame, 
The  shame  and  infamy  is  all  the  world's; 
But,  if  your  father  dare  not  claim  his  own, 
Let  me  be  foster  father,  friendless  waif. 

The  virtuous  may  peer  through  their  lorgnettes, 
Gather  their  skirts  about  them  to  keep  clean, 
But  what  care  we?  for  they,  poor  things,  are  starved; 
Just  throw  a  kiss  to  scandal  and  contempt! 


116 


NOW 

is  the  day, 
Now  is  the  hour, 
Now  is  the  moment 
When  eternity  lies  open  to  thy  soul, 
When  the  everlasting  moments  converge  in  thee. 
Focus  them  with  thy  lens  of  thought 
Until  the  glittering  rays  of  time 
Burn  like  a  star  of  joy  in  thy  firmament. 

Not  all  the  golden  pomp  of  yesterdays 
Nor  all  the  roseate  dreamings  of  tomorrow  — 
Vain  spectres  of  past  bliss  or  future  hopes  — 
Can  compensate  for  this,  the  gift  thou  holdest. 

O  thou  creator  man, 
Fashioner  of  dreams  into  realities, 
Weaver  of  the  warp  and  weft  of  thoughts 
Into  a  mantle  that  shall  clothe  thy  nakedness, 
Filer  of  pyramids  upon  the  base  of  truth 
To  heaven  pointing, 

More  lasting  than  the  stones  by  Cheops  reared  - 
Fashion  in  beauty, 
Build  in  radiance, 

Sing  not  of  time  nor  of  change  nor  of  death, 
117 


Now 

But  let  a  resounding  paean  of  the  immutable  ring  out  ; 
Chant  in  praise  of  the  great  world  heart, 
Heart  of  thy  microcosm, 
The  essence  of  all, 
This  instant, —  now! 


118 


REMEMBERED  LOVE 

songs  are  singing  in  my  brain, 
The  songs  we  loved  in  happy  days 
That  then  were  bliss  but  now  are  pain 

Since  we  are  wandering  different  ways  — 
Sweet  lingering  songs  that  haunt  and  cling 
Close  to  the  heart  despite  their  sting. 

For  love  once  known  is  ne'er  forgot, 
The  old  enchanting  spell  still  holds 
Despite  new  life  that  now  enfolds 

Our  sundered  ways;  for,  plan  and  plot 

Howe'er  we  may  to  change  our  lot, 
Remembered  love  our  being  molds, 
And  as  we  trudge  o'er  friendless  wolds 

Still  lures  us  tho'  we  heed  it  not. 


119 


A  NEW  YEAR  ODE 

THE  sun  aslant  the  dial  falls, 
The  hours  haste  the  dying  year ; 
And  hark!     The  Destiny  that  calls: 
Awake,  O  sluggards  in  your  halls, 
Shake  off  your  apathy  and  hear ! 

Bells  through  the  rain  and  tempest  peal 

Their  challenge  unto  thee  and  me; 
Another  round  of  time's  swift  wheel, 
Another  chance  for  woe  or  weal, 
To  live  the  life  we  know  should  be. 

To  cast  old  creeds  to  winds  of  night, 

To  crush  the  lusts  we  cherish  still, 
To  ope  heart  casements  to  the  light, 
To  let  God's  whisper  tell  the  right ; 
We  know  the  road  but  lack  the  will. 

We  worship  power  and  obey ; 

In  envious  strife  we  strain  for  gold ; 
This  is  the  talisman  to-day, 
For  this  our  very  souls  we  pay  — 

Behold  our  masters  waxing  bold. 

120 


A  New  Year  Ode 


The  glass  is  turned,  the  sand  anew 

Sifts  down  its  measured  stream  of  time; 
Take  heart,  for  lo,  there  be  a  few 
Companions,  stalwart  for  the  true, 

Who  still  toward  Sinai's  summit  climb! 

Ho  bondsmen,  break  your  self-forged  chains 
That  fetter  soul,  that  cramp  the  mind; 

Count  not  in  gold  life's  precious  gains, 

For  he  who  gives  himself,  attains 
Soul  guerdon  others  ne'er  may  find. 

Then  let  the  New  Year  bring  new  hope, 

New  life,  new  light,  new  love,  dear  heart. 
Closed  is  the  book;  another  ope 
Of  larger  faith,  of  broader  scope  — 
O  read  therein,  and  play  your  part! 


121 


THE  REINCARNATION  OF  THE  GIANTS 

WHAT!     Have  the  giants  come  to  earth  again? 
Thor  and  the  mighty  Heracles  reborn? 
We  name  them  Steel  and  Steam,  and  their  great  mate 
The  mailed  hand  of  Zeus  hurled  down  to  man 
Out  of  the  thunder-cloud  —  the  protaean  Fire ! 

Hail,  heroes  by  metempsychosis  born 

To  work  such  deeds  of  wonder  in  the  world ! 

We  doff  our  hats  to  you  in  silent  awe. 

Then,  as  we  stand  amazed  to  contemplate 

This  transmigration  of  star-wandering  souls, 

Comes  one  anigh,  more  vast  incalculably, 

In  whose  bright  presence  all  these  haughty  ones, 

Like  worlds  dropped  in  the  caldron  of  the  sun, 

Melt  and  are  dissipated  into  mist. 

Men  call  this  hero  Love,  nor  seem  to  know 

'Tis  God  Himself,  incarnate  in  His  children. 


122 


THE  VOYAGE 

THIS  is  the  fated  day 
When  we  sail  on  our  voyage  of  adventure; 
See,  the  sailors  are  weighing  anchor, 
Singing  their  rousing  chanty, 
And  the  sails  are  impatiently  flapping. 
Does  your  compass  point  true  to  the  lodestar? 
Is  the  ship's  chronometer  tested? 
Are  the  log  and  the  quadrant  provided? 
Have  we  charts  giving  reefs,  coasts  and  islands? 

O  soul,  of  my  life-voyage  the  master, 
Sailing  the  sea  of  the  future 
By  breezes  of  fate  wafted  onward, 
Are  you  letting  my  ship  drift  unheeded, 
Or  reckoning  the  way  you  are  steering, 
Giving  the  course  to  the  helmsman? 

See!     Yonder  a  storm  sweeps  upon  us, 
The  sky  lowers  black  and  forbidding, 
The  seas  rise  and  smite  us  in  fury, 
And  hark!  'tis  the  roar  of  the  breakers! 
Steer,  steer  for  the  open,  O  Helmsman! 
Get  th'  free  sweep  of  ocean  before  you. 
No  matter  how  wild  the  winds  whistle, 
123 


The  Voyage 


No  matter  how  mad  the  waves  buffet, 
Stout-hearted,  with  tones  as  of  thunder 
Shout  your  commands  to  the  sailors, 
Keep  to  your  course  through  the  darkness! 

And  when  the  dawn  of  the  morrow 
Sees  the  sun  rise  o'er  the  wave-crests, 
We  shall  behold  to  the  leeward 
A  haven  of  refuge  before  us, 
A  mystical  isle  of  the  tropics 
With  glittering  peaks  unto  cloudland 
And  shimmering  verdure  alluring. 
On  into  port  drifts  the  frigate, 
And  hail,  lovely  harbor  of  refuge, 
For  the  name  of  our  haven  is  Death! 


124 


A  CHANT  OF  LOVE 

T   AM  America, 

•*•     Strong  in  the  might  of  wishing  well  to  all  the 

world ! 

The  blood  of  every  race  is  in  my  veins, 
My  heart  beats  compassionate  to  all  the  nations, 
And  when  they  bleed,  I  bleed  —  for  of  their  flesh  am  I. 

My  every  son  stands  equal  here  in  sight  of  God, 
Of  diverse  colors  and  a  thousand  tongues 
Resolved  to  concord  and  sweet  harmony, 
And  bound  to  every  shore  afar  by  ties  of  brotherhood. 

My  stars  and  stripes,  my  flag  shall  symbolize 
Good  will  to  all  mankind, 

Portent  of  that  enfolding  federation  of  the  world 
Which  like  a  benediction  from  my  shores  shall  spread. 
Anger  shall  shake  me  not  though  I  be  wronged  afar, 
Though  frenzied  kinsmen,  their  eyes  bleared  with  th' 

blood  of  battles, 

Their  minds  clouded  with  war's  intoxication 
Fly  in  the  face  of  right  and  smite  my  children, 
Should  I  too  yield  to  the  insane  obsession 
That  the  sword  can  weigh  in  the  scales  with  righteous 
ness? 

125 


A  Chant  of  Love 


I  am  America! 

I  dare  to  keep  the  peace  even  though  reviled. 

I  have  made   a   compact  with   God   to   conserve   my 

strong  young  lives, 
And  will  not  squander  them  to  vaunt  my  pride. 

Nay,  I  care  not  what  the  world  says  of  me. 

I  shall  make  my  own  fashion, 

I  shall  bide  my  own  time, 

Knowing  that  justice  is  bred  of  justice, 

Knowing  that   righteousness  will  triumph  out  of   its 

own  seed. 

Saxon  and  Teuton,  Cossack  and  Turk  — 
I  am  all  of  these  and  more; 
The  north  and  the  south  are  fused  in  me 
And  the  east  and  the  west. 

I  am  America! 

I  am  the  strong  young  mother  of  all  men, 

My  breasts  have  given  suck  to  them, 

They  are  my  children  all,  and  with  a  mother's  love 
I  ope  my  arms  to  them. 

Though  others  chant  of  hate,  I  answer  them  in  peace, 

I  turn  the  sharp  blade  of  their  wrath  with  my  in 
vulnerable  armor, 

With  my  chant  of  love  I  make  reply. 

I  am  America! 
The  hope  of  the  world  am  I, 
The  vestal  fire  upon  my  altar  shall  not  die, 
126 


A  Chant  of  Low 


And  when  the  nations,  prostrate,  mired  in  blood  and 

the  debris  of  war, 
Groaning  in   anguish,   with   clenched  teeth  still,   and 

clutching  guns 

Shall  cry  for  mercy  and  surcease  of  carnage  grim, 
I  will  take  them  by  the  hand,  for  they  are  flesh  of 

my  flesh, 

And  we  together  shall  uprear  anew 
The  mighty  temple  where  we  worship  God, 
The  temple  built  of  consecrated  lives 
Uppiled  as  offerings  unto  brotherhood. 


127 


NEW  WORLD  MAGIC 

NEW  world, 
New  thought, 
New  day, 
I  salute  you! 
Awaked  is  the  sleeper, 
Aroused  is  the  dreamer, 
Yea,  the  very  dead  upstart 
And  gaze  forth  in  wonder! 

Not  Merlin  the  wizard 

Could  work  such  enchantments, 

Not  Faustus,  the  master, 

Such  demons  exorcised 

To  answer  his  bidding! 

Old  Proteus  elusive 

Such  changes  erratic 

In  wildest  delirium 

Never  embodied. 

Invisible  waves  through  the  aether  are  wafted, 
Invisible  thrilling  of  wires  that  tingle 
With  sound  and  with  power  to  whirl  us  onspeeding; 
Speech  tossed  o'er  abysses  of  silence  are  captured, 
Sounds  stored  are  at  will  recreated  in  wonder! 
128 


New  World  Magic 


A  touch,  and  the  night  is  a-sparkle  with  starlight, — 
Aladdin  ne'er  wrought  such  audacious  conjurings. 

O  what  is  the  meaning 
Of  such  necromancy, 
When  Science,  magician, 
Cries  abracadabra, 
And  genii  upstarting 
Obediently  serve  him. 
Nay,  this  is  no  magic, 
No  miracle  working, 
No  alchemist's  fancies, 
But  reason  triumphant, 
Converting  the  formless 
To  order  and  meaning, — 
Mind  wrestling  with  chaos, 
Soul  striving  with  nature, 
Man  vying  with  God! 

But  what  reck  we  of  the  glory  of  engines? 
We  cry  for  man's  glory  and  the  glory  of  the  Lord. 
Aye,  the  world  is  but  clay  to  be  shaped  unto  beauty, 
And  the  stars  in  the  vast  are  but  candles  on  the  altar. 
From  the  first  to  the  last  in  the  earth  and  the  heavens 
One  miracle  only  can  thrill  with  its  wonder- — 
When  God  breathes  on  atoms  and  lo  they  are  life, 
WTien  Man  breaks  from  matter  and  lo  he  is  love! 


129 


TE 


AN 


IB  I  I960 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


